Chained In Pain RENEWED
by Gretchiro
Summary: Chloe doesn't die from the fork when Kirika tries to save Mireille from Chloe. What happens instead and what follows. For those who read this before, it's RENEWED and FIXED, hopefully. This is my 2nd fanfic ever, so it's not as...good as my recent ones.
1. Upon the Altar

Chained In Pain

Chapter 1:

The Stone Altar

by Gretchiro

_In the crimson-painted face of the evening sky, a cry penetrated the air like an arrow._

_ "KIRIKA!"_

_ Mireille, after sitting in defeat for some time, sprung up barely to catch the limp body that fell backwards into her. The dark-chocolate mop hit hard against her chest; the limbs that used to kill, fell limp uselessly; the sand-colored Greek burlap attire laid out motionlessly like a golden blanket. Tears soaked Mireille's face and cleansed Kirika's attire. _

_ Who would have thought Mireille would end up screaming in fear for the life of her family's murderer?_

_ And plugged into the upper left part of Kirika's torso glistened the throwing knife, which belonged to the unforgiving hands of the innocent crusader--the crusader who sought hard to plunge through the trials of the dark sinner, in order to become Noir with the one she truly loved._

_ Emotions were delayed. Chloe just stared with stretched eyes, believing she was defied by a nightmarish illusion. A tingling sensation choked her throat, as her heart thundered and begged to burst inside. For some reason, tears resisted to fall. And her body resisted to do anything. _

_ Only her eyes could work as they stared with disbelief._

_ Unable to do anything, Chloe just watched as Mireille laid Kirika across ancient grounds of stone. _

_ Mireille towered over her in panic. "Kirika!"_

_ Bangs veiled her eyes, as Kirika whispered, "Promise me . . . you won't . . . kill . . . each . . ."_

_--_

The setting sun splashed fiery rays into Mireille's apartment, as the two survivors of the ritual stood, tainted by its haunting presence—a haunting illusion of the blood of the one who just died the same evening. The room was empty, but with an eerie presence that would not falter. The silent tension rung of sorrow, confusion, and pained love for the two women.

"Kirika . . ." Mireille murmured. She inclined her head, staring at the broken face of the pocketwatch, observing the cracks in the glass face like the wrinkles of a grandfather. She cried softly, refusing to be seen like this by the other person inside the apartment.

From behind, Chloe remained tucked her face behind her green burlap cloak. Her eyes reluctantly stared blankly, only seeing Kirika's death over and over—a death by Chloe's hands.

As they were chained in the setting sun's sorrow, poisonous words stabbed Chloe's mind. _Love killed her. Her love for the Daughter of Corsica killed her—I . . . killed her—but I never intended . . . _

Then, out of nowhere, those words convinced her that it was someone's else fault that everything had to end up to this point. Automatically, Chloe's hand unsheathed one of her throwing knives, posing it parallel to her face like she's always done for a battle position. A surging hatred replaced the dazed sadness in her eyes:

_It's HER fault that she's dead!_

Chloe burst, "YOU KILLED HER! IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!" In an immediate stride, Chloe lunged for Mireille, blade aimed.

She had it coming. She knew she had it coming. She knew Chloe would behave this way. Mireille almost felt sorry for Chloe . . . but she reminded herself that Chloe wasn't the only one who cared about Kirika.

Mireille trapped Chloe's attacking hand after the blonde moved aside to dodge Chloe's inward attack. Shocked, Chloe was stuck next to Mireille, her hand tightly caught by professionally and calmly by the Corsican.

_She . . . dodged my attack! And . . . caught my hand? Impossible!_

The Corsican gawked blankly at the floor, staring back into the past when Kirika's death took place.

_"Promise, Mireille?"_

_ I promise, Kirika._

"Kirika requested . . . for me to not kill you," murmured Mireille in a hush-like manner. Chloe stared, unable to grasp how calm the Corsican could be, especially in this emotional situation.

"And," paused Mireille, releasing Chloe's hand, "also, I believe . . . I wasn't the only one she requested, Chloe."

Mireille turned to face Chloe, hinting sorrow. Chloe could do nothing but glare at her in disbelief, speechless; it was hard to contain herself like Mireille when she'd just lost Kirika. When losing something, one blamed the whole world as the first step of self-denial.

"I know you well enough . . . to say, I know you hate breaking promises," noted Mireille matter-of-factly. She stared hard into Chloe's eyes again, hoping to rummage out Chloe's feelings. All she saw was a hard look, a face trying to figure out _what_ to feel.

Chloe closed her eyes; Mireille could hear Chloe's struggling breaths. By reading off the assassin's clenched teeth, her struggling breathing, and her shaking fist, Mireille couldn't help but feel the same way. But she kept her own expression calm as she waited for anything from Chloe.

The cloaked girl opened her eyes, the softness in her eyes replaced by hard steel, like hatred reflected off a blade.

"No," she stated, as if she was being forced to do something. Mireille shared another exchange of solid, thinned glares with Chloe.

Chloe revealed another throwing knife to the naked eye, holding it with two fingers, in front of her face. Her thin, catlike eyes glared cautiously. "I refuse to be and forever be Noir with you! NEVER! You are not fit to be Noir, you never were! You're not like her—I don't want you to be my other half, Corsican!"

In frustration, quite sickened with Chloe's childlike rampage, Mireille growled firmly, "Don't think I like this too, you know."

Then again . . . she was sick of being mad. All these emotions were driving her insane. The only thing she could do to save herself from those clashing emotions, was to calm down. Mireille inhaled, then sighed. "You know, I don't plan on breaking my promise."

_"Thank you . . . for everything . . . Mireille . . ." whispered Kirika, words as haunting, yet delicately enthralling as the wind. Kirika rolled her head weakly to the side so she could face Chloe. "Chloe, please . . . don't—"_

_ Kirika fell heavy. _

_ "KIRIKA! Kirika, Kirika, KIRIKA!"sobbed Mireille._

_ For the next minutes, all the blonde could do was repeat the name of the only one she trusted. All she could do was repeat the name, whether it was Kirika's real identity or not—but it always referred to the soul that was once her friend, her only. _

_ Mireille noticed that the blade still planted into Kirika. "TAKE THAT FUCKIN'' THING OUT OF HER, YOU BITCH!" she barked._

_ Chloe, stuck in her betrayed world of illusions, snapped alive, almost in a frightened, confused manner. She immediately took hold of the dagger and pried it out. Then dropped it. Its metallic landing was not as worse as the emotive song of the melodic pocketwatch._

Mireille melted to her knees in a single collapse. Her tears fell along with her, feeding her thirsty sadness. "Kirika . . ."

Only that name was her way of consoling herself, despite the fact that its namesaker was not there.

Chloe watched, speechless. Yet, inside, a feeling blossomed, one she never knew before. It rolled, it burned, and it aroused that same burning, choking feeling in her throat. Then, it stung her eyes.

The blonde clutched her head, close of ripping her locks out, as she screamed, "I don't want to be Noir with Chloe, I don't want to serve that Altena, I don't want to remain a 'child of the Soldats'! KIRIKA!"

No comfort. Just words, shouting, swearing, crying, and pain could comfort in a most distasteful way.

Then, that feeling Chloe never knew, she now knew. The stinging in her eyes brought tears that soiled her face and her remorse; the lump in her throat brought out moans, whimpering, sobbing, crying, then . . . wailing. Wailing like a lost child.

Chloe melted to her knees as well, as she took out that precious cocktail fork she received from the Three Saplings' moonlit tea party.

Gazing at its slim form through a silver blur, Chloe gasped and cried, "Stop. STOP. Stop saying her name—it hurts . . . STOP."

Chloe leaned forward, hiding her face behind her hand, ignoring the crying woman a few yards from her.

"I already have remorse for the one I killed . . . for the first time . . ."


	2. Tangled Emotions

Chapter 2:

Tangled Emotions

They lost track of the days. Even if they did keep track, it wouldn't matter. A whole day felt like a year. To them, a year could have made Kirika's _existence_ feel like a dream, so distant, so unreal, yet so saddening; it triggered craving, emptiness, and constant loneliness even though they shared the apartment.

They never talked, they never ate together, they did nothing together. Most of the time, Chloe spent her time at the table, recalling their moonlit tea party, staring at the cock-tail fork. Mireille spent her days out of the apartment, but cautiously avoided places she and Kirika shared. The only exception was the patio outside of Mireille's window.

The loneliness, sadness, and despair numbed into emptiness and thoughts. It was as if they forgot to speak. Their thoughts only spoke, weaving only the memories of Kirika—memories that became dreams, past lives . . .

Finally, it seemed they forgot about Kirika, even though somewhere in their hearts something ached. Gradually, they managed to actually do something. Mireille began to read magazines again; or go shopping, although she never ever actually looked at the clothes or purses she saw through the windows; she moved her eyes, but her sight only remained on numb, plain, almost nonexistent images of Kirika. Chloe went out more, too, but still always found herself attached to the apartment, a place she seemed to sense Kirika spent her time the most. She was tempted to fix the battered apartment, but decided against it. It somehow seemed better that way, as if proving Kirika and Mireille's battle with the White Knights of Paris did exist—it meant Kirika existed.

--

The fresh breath of wind whipped through the cracked windows of the apartment. The sun burned on as always, a comfort to Noir reminding them there was still hope for something consoling in this dark, cruel world. Yet, no hope could bring back Kirika, nor heal any broken heart of two friends. The black thread of life that bound the new Noir was a thread of hatred, with no compassion.

Leaning against a wall, Mireille crossed her arms firmly and glared at Chloe from across. The other assassin found comfort sitting on the low dark green sofa, one arm leaned casually upon her thigh. Both thinned steel glares at one another, almost like throwing daggers. And both could not endure the stupid, unfamiliar silence between each other. It was nothing like the friendly silence they once shared with Kirika, the one silence full of a trusting aura.

They glared, knowing that forgiveness could never save them.

_It's her fault,_ grumbled Chloe's mind.

_She's in my room, _Mireille thought with a trembling anger.

And both knew what the other thought: _I hate her!_

Both assassins knew well enough that when two are Noir, they are Noir. There was no turning back, for the sins could never wash away and die. The sins they shared could never be taken away, for they both were at fault over the death of Kirika Yumura. Noir knew that Mireille wouldn't been at fault if she hadn't come trying to claim back Kirika as her partner once again. Noir knew that it was Chloe at fault for being the hand that struck the blade. And both knew that the other would never forgive such actions.

Mireille especially knew attempting any separations or murders of Chloe was stupid. Yet, she didn't know what would happen if she did any of these. All she knew was that the Soldats would never leave her alone. They were always there; every attempt against Chloe's existence was pointless.

And now, Mireille was stuck with someone she'd least expect, not to mention hoping not to be with. In fact, it was absurd. She could just right now kick out Chloe, knowing Chloe wouldn't fight back because they were Noir, and because they promised Kirika that no harm would come to either.

Chloe thought that if she'd have to fed up with Mireille's unforgiving attitude, she'd might as well try to find some way to get Mireille to kick her out, because both knew leaving each other alone on free will would be against Kirika's wishes.

"I'm bored," said Chloe monotonously. Yet, this time, her voice seemed drained of its usual hidden meanings.

Mireille stared at her in astonishment over such a stupid statement, before she responded, "Get used to it. Entertain yourself."

However, even Chloe's poisonous voice and her dull statement reminded Mireille of Kirika—how the Japanese always got bored. But as time wove, the Japanese had gotten used to it and found habits in gawking out the window, making tea, or just blankly thinking. Knowing Chloe would be completely different, Mireille feared the worst.

Chloe looked around, trying to find some way to aggravate the blonde. "What's that?"

She said it in such a monotonous daze, that Mireille could have sworn Chloe was switching to her almost-childish personality. Mireille followed Chloe's gaze, spotting her computer on the pool table.

Impacted by Chloe's stupidity, Mireille studied Chloe, then replied calmly as she could, "A computer."

"What's that?" Chloe motioned toward the ceiling.

Mireille tipped her head backwards, seeing the rotating fan. "A fan."

Chloe said nothing.

Mireille examined her, eyes never lacking loathing and wondering. Then, she growled through gritted teeth, "All right, fork girl, I thought you knew better than that . . ."

Chloe stared at her as Mireille picked up her new radio and with a straight, plain face, she said, "Radio." Then a phone. "Phone. Mine. Do. Not. Touch." Next, her pink purse glazed with a white stripe where she always hid her gun. "Purse—my money—"

Chloe ignored her and strode away toward the skinny hallway that held the kitchen. She glanced at the refrigerator, recalling seeing them occasionally on her assassination missions, but always forgetting their names. She gave a curious look, yet it still appeared a blank expression.

Mireille warned her, "Refrigerator. Food. Mine."

Chloe stared at her. "Why are you talking in short sentences?"

"I don't wanna' waste my time explaining such simple things to cloaked freaks like you."

Mireille shut her mouth, once again, glaring. Chloe turned her attention to the kitchen knives that were hung. Mireille gave an annoyed look as she stated, "Those are KITCHEN knives. You cut food, not people."

Chloe studied a kitchen sink and its faucet. "And this?"

"A faucet in a sink." Mireille didn't understand. She thought Chloe, for someone who's been traveling around assassinating people, would know these modern things. Obviously, she was proven wrong; she assumed Chloe was so swift and accurate with completing assignments, that the assassin must have never taken time to observe backrounds of her victims.

Or she liked to aggrovate Mireille.

Mireille put a fist on her hip. "What are you doing?"

"Altena always had servants serve us dinner. Occasionally, I helped her with picking grapes from our vineyard."

That name snapped through Mireille's mind like a bullet. She forgot Altena still remained alive, when it should have been Kirika instead. Back at the Manor, after leaving Kirika on top of a stone altar, she attempted to murder Altena for luring all into her Le Grand Retour rituals. But Chloe stopped her in another blind rampage, close to killing her. Chloe had suggested that if Mireille was to live, she'd allow Altena to live as well. She couldn't afford losing Altena as well as Kirika. And Mireille had to agree solemnly, because killing Altena would mean killing Chloe, who would try to interfere. And killing Chloe broke Mireille's promise to Kirika.

Damn her and her promises.

Mireille realized she had been dazing again. Chloe, next to the pool table, questioned, "What's this?"

Mireille saw the remote control in Chloe's hand. "A remote control. Turns on that TV."

"And this?"

"A die. A stupid little die."

"How about thi—?"

"That's an air conditioner—Do. NOT. Touch. MY. Moped," demanded Mireille through gritted teeth as Chloe knelt next to the vehicle.

At the corner of her eye, Mireille caught Chloe striding in a stealth-like manner into the bathroom. _What could she possibly find interesting in a bathroom?_ wondered Mireille with an frustrated expression.

"Is this a bathroom?" Chloe's voiced echoed from inside the bathroom.

"No," Mireille replied sarcastically.

_Makes you question how they go to the "loo" back at the Manor?_ she wondered.

When she joined Chloe, she found the assassin caressing the yellow softness of her shower curtain decorated with small, red flowers. "It's a very beautiful bathroom. I like the shower curtains."

_This couldn't be the Chloe I know,_ Mireille told herself. To her, Chloe was always the cool, collected, casual, back talking smart-mouth with the creepiest death skills Mireille's seen, apart from Kirika's.

Mireille continued to watch Chloe's every gesture, every turn of the head, every flicker of her eyes, every shuffle of her cloak. It didn't take long for the maroon-haired to sense those blue eyes on her. She turned and observed the pout-like, angered pose of the Corsican heiress; the grouchy expression, the ignorant eyes, the crossed arms.

. . . _She's so stubborn and impatient. She easily gets annoyed and is full of an unforgiving attitude . . . just like her father, Laurent, _thought Chloe as Mireille returned her stare with another narrowed glare.

Mireille turned, her back facing Chloe, ignoring her completely. Yet, she saw at the corner of her eye that Chloe was downright observing her as well. _That expression she wears is so much like Kirika's . . . I can understand why she respected Kirika so much and why she considered her as a half, but . . ._

_I still can't see why my half found the Daughter of Corsica . . . worthy to die for, _queried Chloe.

Mireille shook their awkward, annoying silence with a heavy sigh. That's when she noticed Chloe's attention pulled by something else more interesting than the French herself. Mireille followed Chloe's gaze, across the pool table room, to the table that held the one plant that both Mireille and Kirika worked hard to nurse. On that wooden flesh sat the Soldats pocketwatch.

Mireille's heart thudded inside her. After discovering, by the words of Chloe herself, that Kirika murdered her family, she found it quite heartrending. In fact, it was even creepier that Chloe casually admitted that she saw the assassination herself, and loved it, aspiring to become Noir with Kirika.

Mireille drew in a deep breath, and said, "And that . . . is the key that bound us together. That watch was the black thread."

Chloe grinned behind her cloak. _"I know . . ."_

Mireille interjected with a face that tried hiding her anger, but a face that admitted: "Of _course_. Because you were there when she did it. Where we all met without even knowing it. And because of her, you became an assassin. I _know_."

Chloe sauntered over to the pocketwatch, gazing down at its shining brilliance of silver beauty. She traced the soft edges of the maidens. "Tell me, Corsican . . ."

Mireille's head perked up to listen, not truly knowing what to expect from the cloaked assassin.

"Why keep the one jewel that haunted you, the one evidence that proved that your parents were Soldat members . . . and that she killed them? Even after it nearly broke, you fixed it, or attempted. Why?" Chloe remained still, her solitary figure caught under the dim light cascading through the broken glass of the windows.

Mireille's breathing shook as she tried to find her words.

Then, she closed her eyes with a sad look. She wove her hand through her blonde hair as she murmured, "Because . . . because it was the only thing I could remember her by. She was my parents' death, she was my enigma to solve, she was my enemy to take the blame. She was the one who gave me pain and confusion . . ."

"And you still cared for her," Chloe finished for her, her voice full of true emotion. She continued to gaze at the pocketwatch.

Through the broken glass of the windows, a breeze breathed in, like a new, relieved sigh. It blessed them with its gentle taps and brushing of their skin and hair. Noir looked out through the glass, finding warmth, but no light in their dark souls. Not yet.

Tears gently cascaded. Mireille whispered, ". . . And still, I cared for her . . . as a friend . . ."

Chloe turned to look at Mireille, for once, giving up her little piece of pity . . . and understanding. She questioned Mireille, "What I want to know is, why didn't you show it?"

Mireille looked up at the dim sun, the wind stroking her in a cradle of its lullaby. "I don't know why . . . and I regret it. Forgive me, Kirika."

_"YOU IDIOT! I DIDN'T ASK YOU, I DIDN'T ASK YOU!" bellowed Mireille to the red heavens as she was helpless with the body in front of her._

_ And now, I'm alone . . . with her. _

Tired of her weak self, Mireille pointed at the sofa. She commanded Chloe, "You're sleeping on the sofa. I'll be taking a walk in the park."

Chloe glanced at those fingers pointing at her only bed. _So be it. _And she obeyed, taking closer steps toward the sofa, observing it once more as if she'd never seen one before. _Hmm . . . better than sleeping in the same bed as the Daughter of Corsica._

Chloe heard Mireille slipping on her gray long jacket. She turned and watched without any emotion as Mireille slowly stepped out of the room, hand on the door.

Mireille gave an ignorant expression. "Do whatever you want. But if you plan on leaving, do me a favor and don't come back. It'll be better for the both of us."

Chloe decided that she wouldn't dare throw her beliefs in Noir and Soldats aside, after all those hellish trials she went through just to become Noir. She knew she'd hate this, not to mention regret this, but she left herself with no choice but to stick with Mireille. And one day, if all was peaceful, she'd seek for advice from Mistress Altena. Altena always knew what to do. In fact, it appeared that Altena knew this was going to happen, knew that Kirika would die . . .

From her own thoughts, Chloe informed Mireille, "I don't intend to. No matter how much we hate each other for her death, no matter what happens, we are Noir. Whether we like it or not. The Soldats of Old and Altena wishes it."

_Again with this Altena._ Mireille swore to herself that some day she'd escape Chloe's creepy eyes and murder Altena. _Because of Altena, this whole Noir belief got us all into this black mess. _

"This Altena. I ought to meet her. I plan to . . ." Mireille's eyes thinned over the thought of herself getting back on Altena.

Chloe sensed the true motive behind Mireille's fraud words. In a cool, but creepy tone that sounded like a little girl was going to murder, Chloe said with a smile that could kill, "If you plan on killing Altena, I'll kill you. Clear?"

Mireille slid into a bitter eye contact with Chloe as she glanced over her shoulders at the cloaked figure.

She smiled. "Clear as a blade. I look forward to it." And left.

Chloe didn't really expect that last response. She half expected it, in another way, because Mireille's hatred was equivalent with Chloe's hatred for Mireille. Mireille would do anything to get rid of Chloe from her sight if it hadn't been for Kirika requesting promises.

_She looks forward to it? Hm, she must really despises me. If we ever do fight, both of us won't hesitate to kill the other. Interesting . . . _Chloe began to frown, surveying her surroundings, an unwelcoming abode. _Why, Altena? Why did you want this to happen? She's unfit to be Noir. And I miss my other half, so much . . ._

Already bored, Chloe strode past the pool table, then discovered the balls that were lazily sitting on top. She picked one up, familiar with its black form. A childish smile slapped across her face.

"An eight ball." Like the innocent, naive girl she was, she asked it, "Tell me, black ball, will I forever remain Noir with Mireille Bouquet?" And shook it. Then she'd forgotten it was just a regular pool ball, so she sighed and released it to its previous position.


	3. Under the Tree

Chapter 3:

Under the Tree

A gentle breeze rattled the branches above Mireille as she thoughtfully sat on a park bench. The park was quite empty due to the day's dull, bruised sky. But Mireille liked it that way. The beautiful days that had followed Kirika's death disgusted her; gray was better than gorgeous days versus rainy days, which were the pinks and blacks of her undying emotions.

Mireille looked obliviously at her hands in her lap, welcoming the fresh air that rippled through her angelic hair, lost in her hazy reverie; haunted by flashbacks of her family's death, her uncle's—whose life she took—and then Kirika's recent death.

It was an endless motion screen in her mind. Kirika's death, not to mention the hand that thrust that knife. Mireille couldn't help but grit her teeth once more and shakily tighten her grip on her jacket.

It was just too painful.

Mireille then knew one thing. She now swore a solemn oath to herself that she'd never get close to anyone anymore. Getting close to her uncle and her lover from a long time ago, was too much. Losing Kirika was a warning. She could not afford enduring pain anymore. Yet, Mireille also swore that she'd live a worthy life in memory of Kirika; though Kirika has departed this dark world in peace, the memory of her, and her caring love for Mireille, would never vanish.

That settled it. Mireille knew she had always said to herself that she'd never get close to anyone, then later end up doing exactly so. This time, after all the painful losses she's gone through, she knew that this world was too cruel enough to build another special relationship.

"Hey."

Mireille looked up, noticing someone. She froze.

_ No . . . way . . ._

"Is it really you?" Mireille couldn't do anything but stare. She saw and realized who it was. She saw the detailed colors from the sun and the hair itself, but that was only a mere spark; she saw the roundish, cute, yet silently observing face; she saw the petite form before her, standing right there to the point she could have just reached out and hugged Kirika—but she had no feelings yet. Kirika did not yet belong to this world; Mireille had nights of nightmares or pleasant dreams in which Kirika was simply alive, smiling, making tea, or fighting alongside Mireille. Even those dreams gave Mireille relief and hope—but right now, in the park, with Kirika, Mireille could not believe what she saw after days and dreams and nightmares of deceit. She could not believe it was true. She had literally lost the ability to feel hope, or even alive, and had to relearn it slowly.

Mireille stared, yet she seemed to only stare through Kirika. "Kirika . . .?"

Yet, something inside her tugged at her, told her she knew this wasn't possible. That blade went deep enough to be lethal.

Slowly, yet as if drowsy from a dream, Mireille wrapped her arms around Kirika and squeezed, never wanting to let go. _"Kirika . . .!"_

"Um, miss . . .?"

Mireille's azure-colored eyes stretched, embarrassed at once.

She drew back, half expecting this, but most of the time, hoping it wouldn't turn out like this. She stared down at a little boy, whom she assumed was around the age eleven. He wore a hooded sweatshirt with baggy khakis and black clog shoes. It was the brown mop of short hair that fooled Mireille into thinking he was Kirika.

_How could I have mistaken him as Kirika?_

The boy stared back, a bit taken aback with confusion. Also, with a look staring at Mireille saying, _Stalker!_ Mireille pondered to herself, trying to grasp what made her mistaken him as Kirika.

_Is it his cuteness? The hair? His innocence . . .?_ Mireille peered deeper into those dark, brown pools of light and comfort. There, she discovered the reason: _No . . . it's his eyes . . ._ His eyes stared, muddy and deep, hiding things, yet saying so much. She took another look at his overall facial features—soft features: round, flawless cheeks, that quiet, doll-like expression, and dark Asian-like eyes.

No. He was definitely not Kirika. But he was at the same time . . .

Mireille took note of his Asian-like eyes. There was no way he was French nor Asian with his interesting genetic make-up . . .?

Finally, the boy whipped out a folded piece of paper, declaring, "Excuse me, miss, but before you kidnap me, take this. A lady told me to deliver this to you."

Just as Mireille accepted the letter, his words caught her attention at once, triggering alarm. Mireille glanced around with accusing eyes, looking sharply for any Soldats sensation coming from any suspect. _Which one are you? _She kept close watch on people lying down, reading, or doing other exercises.

Just as she said, _"Merci", _the boy darted off, screaming, "MOMMY! A SCARY BLONDE TRIED HUGGING ME!"

Angered with her delusions, Mireille snapped to herself, "He doesn't even look like her!" Quite baffled by the sudden change of strange events, Mireille slapped open the letter to read it aloud: "_Big oak tree behind you. In ten minutes_ . . . ?"

Just as she thought: the Soldats were still there.

The Corsican lowered the letter, grinning, as if enjoying this sudden change of matter. First Kirika's death, then Chloe, now this?

Mireille tread a path along the grassy areas where people settled down, her purse close to her, hand ready to whip out her gun in preparation. She grumbled to herself, "And _just_ when I was beginning to get myself settled from Chloe's settlement . . . why now?"

Pedestrians strolled by her, none suspicious enough to alarm her. She observed people lying down, reading, or joyfully having picnics. It lately occurred to her that the Soldats have gotten better at disguising themselves. They've decided not to wear those macho black suits and suspicious sunglasses like all pathetic spies. It would appear that their newest fashion of disguises were to not wear disguises at all, but to dress normally like any civilian. Picking out which of these normal civilians to be that female Soldat was going to be challenging.

The blonde passed a boy playing with his puppy, who definitely was not that boy minutes ago. "That boy couldn't be her, unless that's an ugly girl," Mireille told herself. _This is ridiculous, scouting out Soldats._

She reached the big oak tree the Soldat was talking about. And waited, hands dug casually into her pocket, still clutching her pink purse.

_Well, by now, she should make her Soldatsy appearance. Besides Chloe, I wonder how female Soldats make their appearances. All I've ever encountered were men. _

A chirp caught her attention, tilting her head up to catch sight of a fledgling bird flapping its wings frantically. Its cry was heartbreaking, and Mireille understood it. _That baby bird's calling for its missing mother. Sounds like me calling for help. _

Mireille sighed, lost, knowing she'd never be found.

"Pardon me . . .?"

_How many people could possibly sneak up on me like this?_

Mireille peered over her shoulder, and couldn't help but just stare at what she had to admit to be the most charming, decent-looking gentleman she's ever seen.

Blue, bright eyes reflected hers. The youth held two ice-cream cones capped with chocolate sprinkled vanilla. His Aryan-like, dirty-blonde hair was greased back; face perfectly wide, yet thin, with an obviously strong, perfect jaw. Broad shoulders were evidence of a decent powerful body built, hidden by an oversized white casual button-up shirt.

"You're standing on my picnic blanket," he said.

Mireille looked down. It was a cliché, red, checkered picnic blanket. "Sorry."

"That's fine . . ."

Mireille stepped off, then watched the man silently as he rearranged the wrinkles in the blanket Mireille made. It didn't take him long to figure out she was watching. He stood up, turned, and looked at her with a confused, sheepish face.

_Pretty eyes,_ thought Mireille. Then she shook herself out of it with an apologetic smile. Yet, she stared.

The youth cleared his throat and stated flatly, "Ahem. I'm a girl."

Mireille blinked. "Oh . . .!?"

"It's _okay_," insisted the androgynous woman with an awkward smile. "I got it a lot today, just because of this big shirt and my short hair."

"And your androgynous features."

"Ha, yeah. When I went to buy ice-cream, I spilled some on my shirt, so the man kindly offered me a free BIG T-shirt. Ha." The woman smiled goofily at herself. "So, um, yeah, nice knowing ya . . . well, that is, if you're going anywhere . . ."

She sat down, balancing herself so she could keep hold of her ice-cream cones.

For some reason, Mireille stood frozen, arms crossed, hand gripping the straps of her purse, expression anxious yet focused on the stranger.

The woman looked at her. "You okay? Is the heat getting to you—you want ice-cream?

Mireille stared at it, puzzled. "Hm? Your ice-cream? But, isn't that for someone else?"

"Nah."

For some reason, the Corsican accepted it and heartily bit into it, leaning against their oak tree. As she licked away at the taste of vanilla, she secretly watched the girl eating next to her on the grass. Wondering. _Is there something wrong with me? I haven't really talked to any other humans before, not in a long time. Even Chloe and I barely exchanged words . . . has Kirika's death truly . . . made me unable to live, speak, or act like a human? Can I really not communicate . . .?_

After a few minutes elapsed, the woman spoke once more. "So. I never thought Noir to be so friendly."

Mireille gasped. Her eyes darted down at the Soldat, who grumbled to herself, "Yum."

She backed up, pointing a finger. "Did you poison my ice-cream?"

Badgered, the Soldat remarked, "Geez, first you mistaking me as a boy, now this." She continued licking her ice-cream. "The name's Valerie. The Soldats assigned me to give you a simple message: meet Deux tomorrow back here around noon."

"Why couldn't this Deux coward just tell me that himself?" retorted Mireille, eyeing the Soldat carefully.

"Because we Soldats like to confuse you with all our messengers we send out to you," answered Valerie with a grin, which Mireille couldn't tell if it was a joke or a taunt. "Oh, and bring Chloe."

Mireille flicked hair off her shoulders and folded her arms. She glared, reminding coldly, "Don't even start with me: You know Chloe and I hate each other. She's gone by now—hopefully."

_Go figure,_ thought Valerie. She took another bite. "It is said that Noir is stubborn. There is no doubt that Chloe will remain with you, because if remaining Noir with you means pleasing Altena and the Soldats of Old, then she has no choice. And if you remain Noir with Chloe, then you wont' be sanctioned. Another reason for you to remain with her, to your dislike. I'm pretty sure _she_ would like it if you lived on . . . after all, she did sadly, 'serve as a lamb on the altar' for your sake."

Kirika.

"If you want to keep your promise to her, don't kill Chloe nor let yourself die."

After a pause of silence, the softness in Mireille's eyes faded, as she glared at Valerie. "I daresay, you know your stuff for someone who should mind her own business. So, do me a favor and stay out. This is between only Chloe and I. If I want to rid myself of her, I'll do it." Mireille's voice shook with cold assurance.

"Careful, Noir. Go against the Soldats of Old and Altena, and you'll end up like your beloved friend before you." Valerie casually snugged a hand in her pocket, staring at Mireille and the path ahead of her.

Mireille closed her eyes, as if concentrating on finding the right words. "I think I'll take my chances. And Noir's just a name, not _my_ name, so don't direct that name at me, Valerie."

"Heed my warning," asked Valerie as Mireille walked away. "You don't know who or what you're up against, Mireille Bouquet. Be careful of what you do or say . . . because they're always watching you and her. Soldats _have_ to know your business to the point that even I know your business."

Valerie watched helplessly as the stubborn hand of the Soldats walked out on her.

Mireille didn't dare glance over her shoulder back at the Soldat, but something didn't seem . . . right. She literally could feel Valerie's eyes on her, her very solid presence against her back, as she continued walking. Curiosity hung there for a moment, but Mireille shook it off and hurried home, anticipating it was empty.


	4. Moonlight

Chapter 4:

Moonlight

It was around seven at night when Mireille arrived in the apartment. The moment she squeaked open the door, she looked and listened. _Now . . . to see if she's still here. So far, I'm inside and no signs of reactions._

Mireille flicked off her black boots and started walking cautiously down the hallway that led to her pool table, hand ready to grab her gun out of her purse. She assumed Chloe was hiding in order to strike first.

Yet, two minutes later, after scavenging the area with her gun aimed, it was clear that Chloe was gone. Mireille's heart fluttered with relief and rejoice. She exhaled, smiling. No signs of life.

Quickly, yet lazily, she fetched her pink fuzzy bathrobe, undressed, and slipped into it.

_Now that she's gone, I can feel security and privacy again in my own abode . . . _

Mireille grabbed a new magazine to read from her mail box. _The place has been running cold for a while. She left a long time ago._

She sauntered toward the bathroom. _Wow. It feels good to be free of Chloe and Valerie . . . no Soldats . . . _

Once inside the bathroom, Mireille slowly slipped out of her bathrobe as if opening wings of renewal.

_Drip. Drip. Drip. _

Huh? Did I put the shower on?

_Drip. Drip. Drip—PSHHHHH!_

Staring, Mireille grabbed hold of the shower curtain and ripped it aside. Sprays of water covered Chloe, who slowly rinsed and cloaking herself in shampoo and soap.

Scared half to death, Mireille whipped her magazine in front of her to shield her nude body from sight. She screamed, "CHLOE! GET OUT OF MY SHOWER!"

Chloe stared at her, then continued combing water and shampoo through her hair. "You've been gone for a while, Corsican—"

"Nuh-uh! Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, WRONG!" burst Mireille, retreating behind the shower curtain. After putting on her bathrobe, she threw a towel at Chloe even though the girl was still showering disrespectfully. "Get out! Stay out of my shower, stay out of my apartment, stay out of my _life_!"

"What's wrong, Corsican—never seen a nude woman before?" said Chloe rather blankly, numb by the situation.

"Not until now, and I don't plan to from now on—now, out!"

After Chloe coiled herself in the towel, Mireille pushed her out of the bathroom, demanding that the girl throw her burlap cloak and black suit on again.

"I've done it before with my other half—"  
"Good for you." Mireille pushed Chloe out of the apartment and into the hallway after the assassin finished dressing. "You're out here for the night."

"Anger management issues," said Chloe, brushing her warm, wet, maroon bangs from her eyes.

Mireille slammed the door in Chloe's face. Then, she slowly slid down to the floor. It wasn't Chloe mentioning bathing with Kirika nude that overwhelmed her—it was that she had to tend to Chloe's needs. She didn't waste her time feeding Chloe, so she certainly didn't want to meet the girl's needs in any other way. If the cloaked assassin wanted a shower, she should buy her own shampoo and new clothes and maybe her own house.

A tear fell. ". . .This is so stupid. I hate it, and I hate her." Mireille hung her head. "Kirika . . . help."

Even when Mireille never acknowledged it to Kirika, she had always known about Kirika's silent attempts to console the Corsican. Why Mireille didn't respond or reach out first hurt even more, as she reminscenced back on the most insignificant quiet moments between them.

_I don't know what to do . . . I don't want her to be here._

Chloe, who laid against the wall in the hallway, blinked, adjusting her eyes to the moist, black velvet-like darkness engulfing her. She sighed, holding a strand of her wet hair in her finger. _I don't know where to go. I don't want to be here. I guess . . . I'll just have to sleep out here for the night._

As Chloe got comfortable, her mind flew back to Kirika's time of death. After all, the only person she could ever think of, besides Altena, was Kirika. And now dreading over the painful truth that Kirika was gone and not Noir with her, troubled Chloe.

_Why . . .? Why'd you do it?_

_ "Why?" whispered Chloe as Kirika gave her last effort to breathe her last words, words that brought and ended this chaos._

_ "Because . . . hatred can . . . never save."_

"But _why?_ Why for HER?" Chloe nearly screamed out her words of confused pain. She clenched her teeth, nearly banging her head against the wall behind her.

Inside the apartment, Mireille buttoned up her nightshirt. She tried to console herself. _I've been crying too much. I should get some sleep._ The blonde flopped herself onto her bed, nesting her arms behind her head, glaring at the same ceiling. _And I need to get rid of her. It's the only way I'll be free from my pain . . . she just acts and looks like Kirika too much._

Chloe lifted her heavy eyes, noticing how they were bblinded by a distant, silver light. At the far end of the hallway, pearl-like light washed into the room, painting a silver reflection of the window it passed through. Chloe's eyes brightened up with joy and tumbling emotion at the sight of the clean belly of silver.

Chloe smiled as the silver smiled back. "I remember. The moonlit tea party. My dear, are you . . . smiling?"

_If that moon is you smiling, Kirika, then I guess it means I can sleep in peace, _thought Mireille, as she peered over the wall that hung over her small bed at the moon through the window.

_. . . As long as you sing me a lullaby and watch over me as I sleep._ Chloe settled herself underneath the window that captured the moon's image. The moon blanket her into a loving, silvery cradle, humming its lullaby inaudible.


	5. Sun Missing Dawn

Chapter 5:

Sun Missing Dawn

Mireille laid flat on her back, body lined by the wrinkles of the bed that entangled her in its warmth. Like loose gold, her hair spread out in untold patterns, as she snoozed on. Then, she tossed and turned.

_Kirika . . . no! _

Her eyes began to uneasily squeeze as she was trapped in her nightmare, hands curling and fisting.

_Chloe . . .!_

She tossed, gripping her pillow firmly with anger.

_Mom . . ._

Darkness swirled and folded Odette in black.

_Mommy!_

_ Hello, my Mireille._

_ Mommy? Mom, what's the matter?_

_ BANG!_

_ MOMMY!_

_ BANG, BANG!_

_ MOM! _

Mireille ran in time to catch her falling mother. Holes tore her mother's purple strapless shirt. Mireille hugged her close, looking up at the killer.

_Kirika . . . why?_

Kirika aimed the death hole at Mireille, loading the gun. A sad glow filled her eyes.

_Forgive me, Mireille . . ._

_ BANG!_

Kirika shot off half of Mireille's bangs; Mireille's blue eyes widened in fear and shock.

Kirika's pupils suddenly shrunk to a smaller size, almost catlike. Her rust-colored eyes became hard, cold, deadly, and penetrating. No remorse. She cocked her gun and aimed once more.

_Those eyes . . . _

Mireille remembered seeing Kirika's eyes like that a few times after Chloe and her had recited that Noir "prayer".

She inclined her head.

_I guess I deserve this . . . WHAT?_

The body she held in which she thought was her dead mother was replaced by Kirika's. Confused and scared, Mireille looked from Kirika's corpse back to where she thought she last saw Kirika.

Only to find Chloe.

_Ore va, Mireille Bouquet . . _.

--

"CHLOE!" Mireille sprung up from her bed.

"Yeah?" Chloe's head popped from behind the wall Mireille's bed was against.

Mireille sighed and trembled, then stopped. Cold perspiration coated her; she smeared it off.

Her mother dying . . . that made sense. She _did_ die. Then the dream showed Kirika killing her. Kirika shooting off half of Mireille's bangs—that part was random, but it was a reminder of Silvana, the Intoccabile, Mireille's biggest fear. But Kirika turning into the dead mother didn't make sense, not to mention the fact that Chloe was there as well. It made sense that Chloe killed Kirika, because she did, but the last part left Mireille breathless: Chloe with a gun aimed at her, bidding her farewell . . .

Mireille's eyes widened again, but then shook her head. Impossible. She would never end up loving Chloe like she loved Kirika. Chloe was not even close to becoming a sister model like Kirika did. Chloe wasn't even a friend. She was just merely an ally. She knew about the Soldats, she was under the control of Soldats, and she even began to despise the Soldats for allowing Mireille be Noir with her. Therefore, she'd find ways to get pay back and backstab the Soldats in their weak spot.

_No,_ she told herself, rubbing the back of her head, _It was only a dream . . . a very haunting dream—Wait just a minute . . .!_

"CHLOE, what are you doing!" she reprimanded, eyes ferociously pinning down Chloe.

Chloe wore Kirika's blue collared, sleeveless shirt with breast pockets. She also stole a stunning resemblance of Kirika by wearing Kirika's blue skirt she always wore—if Mireille left out Chloe's maroon, triangular-like hair.

The girl gave her a blank look as she asked, "What? If I'm to fit in, then I'll do it."

"Those . . . are Kirika's clothes!" snapped Mireille.

"Really?" Chloe looked at her clothes with a look of happiness and reunion. "No wonder why I felt like wearing these."

"I TOLD YOU TO STAY OUT OF MY APARTMENT."

"You said for me to stay out for the NIGHT. It's now MORNING."

_Smart jerk._ Mireille threw a hot glare at Chloe. "Get out of those. NOW. It . . . it doesn't match your hair . . ."

_That was a dumb thing to say._ Then again, nothing matched Chloe's hair.

Chloe stared at her with a surprised glint in her eyes. "I've never heard you say that before. It's not . . . you."

Mireille only glowered, examining Chloe's attire and how she was similar-looking to Kirika. _I got to get her new clothes . . . Anything to keep her from looking like Kirika . . . I need us to go shopping. She just looks too much like Kirika._

"What's the matter with you?" interjected Chloe, giving a sharp glance at Mireille's way, after it dawned on her that Mireille had been observing her. "Mireille?"

Mireille thought she was seeing _and_ hearing Kirika again. She suddenly felt like crying.

"Kirika . . .?" she begged in a murmur.

Chloe realized Mireille's gotten delusional, so she said in a loud enough voice to awaken Mireille, "MIREILLE!"

The French snapped into reality. Mixed in confusion, she said, "Wha—? Shopping! Right. Shopping, we go shopping." She was already at her wardrobe.

"Corsican, what's gotten into you?" growled Chloe, watching in disbelief as Mireille opened the wardrobe's doors.

Then, Mireille paused. Chloe braced herself.

_My clothes—!?_ Mireille blinked. Mireille whipped around in one-hundred percent rage, fists clenched. "CHLOE! Did you—?" She gasped.

Behind Chloe a field of clothes the assassin managed to find cluttered the floor.

"I couldn't find any clothes that fit me, but then I found that _her_ clothes were my exact size." Chloe only stared back.

Mireille struggled to keep herself from throttling Chloe. All she could do was glare hotly. _She doesn't respect anyone whatsoever! Why am I even living with her?_ Mireille glared on, her nails digging into her palm as she tightened her fist harder. _Why can't I just shoot her and get it over with? But . . . why didn't I kill her when I had the chance . . .?_

Chloe watched the shaking Mireille trying to contain her cool.

Mireille remained glaring, until another subconscious voice reminded her, _It's because she shares the same innocence. It's because she is Kirika—_

_ No!_

_ No matter how much she acts, sounds, or looks like Kirika . . . she's not Kirika . . . _

Mireille bowed her head, closed her eyes, then reopened them to throw in a new calmness in her eyes.

_"Promise, Mireille?"_

_ "I promise, Kirika."_

_ I promised Kirika. Damn me and my promises._

Mireille loosened her fist. Chloe watched it, amazed that she didn't find a gun at her throat yet.

_I can't kill her (number one, because she's better than me). I promised Kirika. But it doesn't mean . . . I have to live with her . . . _

Mireille went and fetched her coat, throwing it around her like folded wings. "C'mon. We're going shopping."

Chloe stood, dumbfounded. "That's it? Just stand, glare, and say we go shopping? Does shopping help ease your anger and stress?"

Mireille looked over her shoulder at Chloe, giving a fake grin. "Nah, to get you new clothes."

"Fun."

"I know. Won't it?"

"I hate you."

"I hate you too."

"Just kill me."

"Let's go."

Mireille turned around toward the door. Just as she turned the knob, Chloe, with a casual hand on her hip, admonished, "I wouldn't open that door."

"What'd you say—?" Mireille opened the door already.

Chloe looked away. Mireille looked out the doorway, finding herself face-to-face with a short-haired woman who was on the verge of knocking her door. Both stared, frozen, then blinked at each other.

Mireille stared. "You're . . . a boy, right?"

"I'm wearing a men's business suit," replied the stranger, examining himself. "So, I think I am. You're . . . wearing pants, right?"

Awkward moment. Humiliation. Embarrassment. Mireille never expected to find herself with no pants, standing in front of a man. Mireille blinked a few times, feeling her body flush with an embarrassing warmth.

"CHLOE! You knew he would be here behind the door?"

"Now she complains," murmured Chloe. Before Mireille screamed again, Chloe answered, "I told—d"

"DON'T." Mireille pointed her palm flat against Chloe, motioning her to stop. "Don't say it. Don't even chuckle. Next time, _you_ turn the knob!"

"Your butt's showing."

"Oh, who cares—SHIT." Mireille had forgotten she turned her back to the man, whom she completely forgotten about. She turned around, covering her ass with her hands.

"That's what happens when you walk around in a nightshirt—not that it looks anything like one," said Chloe.

Mireille turned her head and glared over her shoulders at her partner. "You and I have serious—"

Chloe sauntered by her. "Pierre."

"Noir," replied the gentleman. He flashed Mireille a grin. "And don't worry, Noir, I'm not a pervert."

"AND you know his name!" blurted the French.

"Get used to her being surprised," Chloe informed Pierre.

Pierre shook his head with a smile. "Ha. Valerie was right. You are quite jittery, Noir."

"You know Valerie?" burst Mireille, once again.

Pierre exchanged another puzzled expression with Mireille, before smiling weakly and announcing, "Oh yeah. She's my sister."

Shocked once more by the news, Mireille gave a crossed look. "That explains the pretty faces."

Valerie looking like a boy and her brother looking like a girl gave Mireille an impression that their family wasn't any different. In fact, Mireille couldn't imagine _what_ their family would look like. She shook her mind off it, though.

The Corsican wasn't the only one shocked by Pierre's announcement of his relationship with Valerie. Chloe was struck by the thought that Mireille had been hiding something from her.

With a hand on her hip, Chloe stared flatly at Mireille with a piercing look. "Forgot to mention something, Corsican?"

Mireille knew Chloe was talking about Valerie. She folded her arms and replied in a childlike way, "No."

"You didn't tell me you met Valerie."

"Maybe because I didn't feel like it."

"Stop sounding like a child."

"Oh, _I_ sound like a _child_?"

Pierre changed the subject. "Yes, Valerie did mention about meeting you, Noir . . ." He rubbed his chin, as if caught up in his own thoughts. He smiled charmingly and also added, "And like her, I'm here to just simply remind you about meeting Deux."

"Deux?" Chloe stared at Mireille questioningly.

"Can't he come here and say that himself?" added Chloe.

Mireille, oblivious to Chloe's expression, ruffled her bangs in anger. "Huh . . . like brother, like sister. Leave me alone. We don't need you."

Chloe looked at her.

_"We don't need you . . ."_

_ We . . ._

_ We . . . _

_ We . . ._

Pointing his index finger to the air as if in the attempt to give a thumbs-up, Pierre smiled. "Right, right. Well, don't forget: Deux, noon, at the park, tomorrow. So, I shall leave you back to your shopping. And we'll meet again."

He turned and walked out the door, secretly grinning, words tracing in his mind: _The plan . . . is working . . . _Noir watched after him, with Mireille sneaking under her breath the word, "creep", and Chloe pausing with wonder as they made sure he left for sure.

It was so odd that in the midst of things, Soldats just randomly popped in and out. So many of them. So random. And this time . . . they weren't sent to sanction Noir.

When the pretty boy shut the door, Chloe's eyes slid sideways, eyeing Mireille with a calm look. "_'We . . .'_?" she queried the blonde.

"And your point . . .?" snapped Mireille calmly, hoping the word, "we", didn't impact Chloe the wrong way.

"Nothing."

Chloe still watched Mireille from the corner of her eye, as Mireille glowered at the door Pierre had passed through. The blonde's teeth clenched once more, face tightened into an angry mask.

T_hey won't leave us alone! Why can't they just find a new Noir? _she thought. _Why can't they just leave us alone? What do they want from Noir? We're now Noir, but they expect more from us. Why? Why won't they leave us alone—why won't _she_ leave me alone?_ Mireille glared sideways at Chloe, who unlocked their glaring contest and looked away in her thoughts. _She knows—we both know—that we hate the other. Then why? Why stay?_

"Shopping. Let's go," commanded Mireille flatly.

Chloe's eyes snapped at her like steel whips. "Don't you get tired of saying that?"

And they left in a cold silence.


	6. The Face of Innocence

Chapter 6:

The Face of Innocence

"THAT WAS THE WORSE SHOPPING I HAVE EVER DONE," exclaimed Mireille, marching like a storm along the trails of the park. "Not to mention I shopped with Chloe—god, she took too much."

Behind her, a tower of shopping bags staggered, contained by Chloe. One of the bags dropped. When Chloe bent down to pick it up, others in her possession fell.

Mireille quickened her pace. "I'm never shopping with you again."

"_You_ wanted to shop," retorted Chloe flatly as she managed to follow.

_Mireille questioned the body behind the stall door. "Well . . .? What do you think for the tenth time?" _

_ Chloe's voice replied monotonously, "It suits its purpose, I suppose."_

_ "You've said that ten times."_

_ "It's too skimpy."_

_ "You've said _that_ ten times."_

"Once again," declared Chloe, "You were the one who wanted to shop in the first place."

And they did shop. Chloe got new casual clothes, which relieved Mireille greatly. The maroon-haired girl chose a black V-shirt, long, baggy shorts that hung past her knees, and decent hiking boots. She was almost like a tomboy. Mireille preferred this a lot; she didn't want to be seen with an obvious, cloaked weirdo trailing with her. Kirika being a quiet, blind dog was not as worse as a creep in a cloak; what a great way for the Soldats to keep track of them.

Mireille gave a cold killer's stare over her shoulder at Chloe, as she put a fist on her hip. "You gonna' wise-talk to me after I helped get new, clean, _normal_ clothes for you out of the goodness of my heart?"

"Yeah," replied Chloe flatly.

"Ya, what heart? Noir not suppoz ta have eh heart."

"Is that a fact?" grumbled Mireille, turning to Chloe, who only gave her a look implying she didn't say anything. Both turned to find a rather massive man standing behind them, only an inch from them.

_Oh my God! He almost gave me a heart attack!_ Mireille kept her cool as she observed the Soldat messenger by her side. His had wide shoulders and pulled back greasy blonde hair. Mireille could have sworn he'd make a good thug, but she knew there was just a large matter of fat underneath the clothing. His hairy arms hid no muscular strengths whatsoever. There were hints of needed shaving spots on his thick mug face. He wore a black shirt with a white jacket over it, and oversized pants. Sharp cheek bones defined a powerful jaw. Thick blondish eye brows hooded small, beady eyes that were threatening, yet cool and collected.

_Where did he come from?_ Chloe was surprised herself, observing the wide, thick back of a newcomer Soldat.

"Deux, huh?" Mireille inquired of the Soldat. The last name seemed to suit his appearance. Yet, he sounded Jamaican.

_She's calm . . . for once,_ Chloe observed as she listened to Mireille's flat voice. Usually, the assassin expected at least a yelp or spaz from Mireille. However, this was different. In fact, Chloe suspected the blonde was getting used to it.

"Ya," Deux replied, breathing out smoke from his cigarette. He tucked his hand in his pocket and held his cigarette to his mouth once in a while. "Your target."

To cut to the chase, he handed Mireille a piece of paper.

So this was his reason for coming. Of course, Noir expected this. Overall, the main ideal of Noir was for it to serve out assignments for the Soldats. They were the two hands of the Soldats, after all. And no one should least expect anything else. Then again, it's been a while since a Soldat came to them to _assign_ them a mission, instead of _being_ assigned to kill Noir.

Mireille looked. It was a photograph. First, she read the back, where handwritten details were given. Then, she flipped and to her surprise, nearly gasped.

The brown pools drowned her again in their presence.

_It's . . . it's that the boy from yesterday!_

Mireille gawked. She recalled that over years, never has a child been a target of the Soldats. The only time she could think of was when her brother was sanctioned by young Kirika's hands back then.

"But . . . he's only a boy," murmured Mireille heavily.

Deux spat out tobacco, then snarled, "Hoo carez, man? You've killed humans. What makes heem deeferent, ya?"

Mireille backfired, "He's a boy." She turned to Chloe. "Hey, fork girl, ever kill a child before? After all, if you killed when you were little, then you probably killed children." She was going to add, "just like Kirika did", but left it out.

In response, Chloe looked away with a poker face, thinking, _I have no regrets._ The assignments were assignments, hand-held out by the Soldats and Altena herself. She took the orders without questioning the superior.

Mireille took that as a yes, and released the subject.

Deux spoke, though he had a cigarette through his teeth. "Guezz it's your first child az eh target, ya man?"

Mireille combed through her hair with her hands, gazing out to the heavens. "Lemme guess. The boy has a killer's agility. He was a Soldat the whole time . . .!" _I still can't believe I mistook him as Kirika._

Chloe mouthed her additional opinions as well, looking at the ground in wonder. "Either that, or he's a threat, somehow."

"But, _what_ is it that makes him a threat?" questioned Mireille as if they were asking quiz questions. "He doesn't look like the type to be a killer."

Deux's beady eyes hardened like an awakened demon. He frowned, saying, "Soundz like ya already know lit'l Henri, ya?"

Chloe's eye brows raised in question.

Mireille returned him the same, hard look. "Sounds like you do too." Suspicion rang in her tone.

"He may be a Soldat," explained Deux succinctly, ". . . but, za lit'l scoundril eez eh threat . . ." The thug turned and walked away, hands dug into his white jacket's pockets. "Yooz gotta' week to pull this assignment off. Or eet's the alta for ya."

As they watched him off, Mireille said in a low tone, "Shall we see what this boy's like, fork girl?"

"Stop calling me fork girl."

"Well then, stop calling me Corsican."

"No."

"Then you'll remain as fork girl."

"Yippee."

The wind painted solitude through the air. A moan escaped through the lips of the tree tops once in a while, yet silence reigned.

Mireille sighed. "Anyway, let's go find Henri."

"To observe his backround and get info . . ."

"Yeah. Wanna' know what makes him a threat. And to what?" Mireille held her chin thoughtfully, intensity burning in her eyes, determination itching her mind. "It's not often you find the Soldats ordering the sanction of their own member, not to mention he's only eleven. Anyway, it's written that the boy is a playful one, so let's start with the playground. If we don't find him there, we'll try the park."

Chloe switched the subject at once, staring at Mireille. "Now, about you knowing Henri."

Mireille didn't hesitate as she explained, "I met him yesterday while I was in the park. He led me to Valerie via letter."

They strolled their way toward their destination, this time, Mireille offering to take some of Chloe's grocery bags so the girl wouldn't delay their time. More people molded around on the paths in the park. For once, Mireille felt glad that she could once again blend in this normal crowd.

To add to her sudden burst of happiness, she didn't sense any other nearby lurking Soldat spies. She felt as if they've decided to give Noir room, apart from assigning them Henri.

Chloe finished, "And you never guessed him to be a Soldat . . ."

Despite the noise of human pollution in the air around them, there was another dreadful silence between Noir. Above, flowers in a tree shook and sighed in the wind. It seemed that this was their only music.

"If you don't mind," began Chloe.

At that sound, the two lessened their pace in their walking. That was a sign that Mireille was listening intently.

Chloe took advantage of this and plowed on in a hushed voice similar to Kirika's. "What was she like . . . to you . . .? Who did you see, and who did you not? When you two used to shop, what was it like . . . with her?"

Mireille accepted that Chloe never really got to spend any longer moments with Kirika like Mireille did. However, Mireille didn't like that Chloe was asking what her opinions on her best friend were. It was rude, and it was privacy, privacy that could easily throw uneasy emotions.

_How dare she asks about personal things . . ._ Mireille closed her eyes, breathing in and out quietly as the wind's hushed voice. She reconsidered: Yet, Chloe seemed to decide to use a little respect in this discussion. Something told Mireille, that the other half of Kirika wanted to learn more about Kirika.

She respected that, and understood it. Mireille herself had always tried understanding Kirika. So, Mireille flatly described Kirika to Chloe in a remote way.

"If you think about it, she was a replica of love. Love is death, sorrow, pain, yet happiness and trust. Love's an enigma. She was simple, yet, then again, confusing to understand. She smiled at insignificant things for hours. She put time into her own hands. She . . . was hatred, pain, then death—" Mireille paused, her heart suddenly fluttering and staggering with emotional pain. She pushed it too far, discussing Kirika like that. Without realizing it, Mireille bellowed, "I HATE her, I HATE, I HATE, I HATE HER!"

Chloe's eyes widened as she saw Mireille take out something; she looked at it as Mireille cried and screamed, "I NEVER ASKED HER TO SAVE ME!"

The maroon-haired girl peered closer, seeing the pocketwatch, the thing that started and ended everything. But then again, end is only beginning.

Chloe watched Mireille as the Corsican tried hiding her emotions, looking away from the other half of Noir.

_Each link of pain and memories . . . click together, forming a chain. Mireille is shackled in her own painful chain of memories. _Chloe watched, trying to understand how Mireille felt about Kirika. _One painful link is me; I remind her of my other half—-that's what made her my other half in the first place. Another, is the Soldats pocketwatch. That watch had led them to each other and the Soldats. Last, whatever she and I do, she did as well her . . ._

Out of nowhere, a sudden burst of a dark flame emitted inside of Chloe. She glared at Mireille all of a sudden. _But she doesn't deserve pity or attention! She did not know my other half like I did. She didn't even treat my other half like I did! _

As Chloe trembled inside, Mireille called to her. "Listen, Chloe."

Chloe looked up.

"I know it wasn't your fault. It wasn't your fault," murmured Mireille in a confusing way. Chloe blinked at the back of Mireille, trying to understand. "It was just the act of death, something we can _never_ stop, nor change. Chloe . . ."

Mireille turned around to face Chloe, who was suddenly spellbound by the softness and forgiving light in the blonde's blue eyes. Mireille wore a sad expression, but at the same time, it gave sympathy and it forgave:

_"It wasn't your fault . . ." _

Chloe stared at her, eyes glittering, as if she was about to cry.

_Is . . . is she . . . forgiving me!? _

Mireille saw the change of emotions in Chloe's eyes, so she turned around with a snobby look. "I know what you're thinking! 'It's her fault that Kirika got killed!'"

Chloe blinked blankly as Mireille continued her "fit". "If it makes you feel any better, let's just say it was _both_ our faults! _Happy_?"

The sudden shift from Mireille's forgiving Chloe to yelling stunned Chloe. But for once during her endless days with the Daughter of Corsica, Chloe budged a small, weak smile. However, as much as she tried to hide it, Mireille saw it.

"What's with that smirk?" grumbled Mireille, her eyes pinned at Chloe. "Hiding something from me?"

"What smirk? I was frowning, see?"

Inside, Chloe knew that Mireille was trying to hide something. It all seemed clear to her now. Throughout her life, Mireille tried to distance herself from others as a punishment for losing the people she once loved. It was her way of suffering and her way of reminding herself that love could kill, at first. After seeing what happened to her parents, after hearing that they died because they loved her, Mireille vowed she'd never build a relationship. Her love for her Uncle Claude and her strong bond with Kirika finally proved to her that relationships were best to keep sealed. All in all, if she was to survive in this cruel world soaked in darkness, Mireille had to become dark herself.

Chloe finally understood.

The only thing she wasn't so sure about was if Mireille really was trying to hide the fact that she already grew fond of Chloe. After all, Chloe was Kirika's other half.

"Well frowning's not gonna' help us Kirika back, nor find Henri," stated Mireille, walking away.

_Emotional moment gone._ Chloe frowned. She followed Mireille.

"C'mon, let's go find him—"  
As Chloe followed, in front of her, Mireille gave out a cry, suddenly flew back, and crashed to the ground.


	7. The Heart of the Soldats

Chapter 7:

The Heart of the Soldats

Mireille laid in defeat, as a red rubber ball bounced away. Her shopping bags she held seconds ago laid scattered around her like trash, the clothes washed out. Chloe found it quite funny that the other hand of the Soldats got taken surprised by a ball.

"Sorry blonde woman who hugged me two days ago!" The boy who retrieved his toy ball returned to the fallen Mireille and Chloe.

Mireille immediately flicked up straight like a plank board. "WHO—?"

"Found him," reported Chloe in a flat voice, trying to hide a grin underneath. She couldn't believe a little boy like Henri knocked out Mireille with a simple kick or hurtle of a ball.

"I said sorry blonde woman—"

Mireille cut off Henri and stood and towered over him like a shadowing omen. Her eyes burned down upon him, already vexed and full of dislike for his ignorance and disrespect.

"_What_ did you just say?" said Mireille hauntingly through gritted teeth.

Henri beamed angelically. In a mocking tone, he giggled, "I kid, I kid. I meant to say Noir."

"My name is _not_ Noir."

"Well, you _are_ Noir."

"MY NAME IS NOT NOIR. MY NAME IS MIREILLE."

"Dramatic," said Chloe, watching with quiet amusement. "It was just a ball. And he's just a boy."

Next thing Noir knew, Henri walked up to Chloe and puckered up a pouty, childish face. With begging eyes, hewhined, "You're Noir, right? Please, say you're Noir. Right?"

"I thought you were eleven!" commented Mireille.

Chloe gave a moment's pause before smiling at Henri as if he was her child. With a fond cock of her head, Chloe gave a wide smile and said, "Of course."

That was a shock for Mireille. She stared at Chloe's smile directed at Henri.

_That's rare . . ._

"YAYYYYYYYYY!" Henri threw up his arms, throwing the ball as well that it bounced off Chloe's head, who gave a small, "Ow". A big smile of rejoice swept across the youngster's face.

Mireille closed her eyes, sighing.

Observing the jubilant Henri proved to Mireille that he was far from what she expected of him. When she first met him, she completely mistook his structure and behavior to be somewhat like Kirika's, due to how he stared. He was quiet at first sight, along with getting easily "frightened". Of course, Mireille finally understood that it was his way—the Soldat's way—of disguising their true personalities. And now, seeing this happy boy, completely twisted Mireille's perspective on kids.

Henri skipped around Noir.

"YAY! C'mon Noir, let's play a game of ball!" insisted Henri, waving his happy arms in front of Mireille.

The blonde assassin crossed her arms, trying to avoid contact with the eleven-year-old. "Think again, happy boy." She wanted to quiet him down before people could hear.

"Ohhh c'mon Noir! It'll be fun. C'mon!"

"NO. Since when do little boys skip?"

"He's just a kid," retorted Chloe, preoccupied with a blade of grass twirling in between her fingers.

Mireille saw it coming: the boy came toward her, probably for a hug or to jump on her. Mireille spread her fingers and pressed against the boy's forehead, while he tried walking forward, but her might against his child foolishness benefited.

_Some day I'd like to duck tape him._

Chloe watched with amusement, but then again, hoping that they wouldn't end up stuck with their target.

_We're gonna' be here all day._ Who would have thought their target would be the other kind of difficult?

Henri whined, almost wailing like a baby. "AWWWWWWWWEEEE!"

"NO." Mireille tried ignoring him. "Who the hell raised you?"

Stubborn little Henri grabbed hold of Mireille's black tank top and tugged lightly, yet with force as he begged. "Awwe, c'mon! I'll be alone and I need a playmate!"

"You're not gonna' find any playmates around here," grumbled Mireille.

Henri continued tugging recklessly, but stupidly. For someone who threw a hard ball at Mireille, his tugs weren't the same.

Then Henri switched over to Chloe, tugging at her black V shirt. "PLEEEEEEEEZE! _Really,_ it's an honor to be hanging out with Noir. C'mon!"

Chloe paused, as if considering Henri's words for once, whereas Mireille thought Chloe should just simply say no. "REALLY, who _does_ raise you?" questioned Chloe.

"Oh, cry me a river," exclaimed Mireille with false pity.

Henri released Chloe from torture, putting his hands behind his back as he tapped the dirt nervously, giving them his best Kirika eyes. "But . . . it'd make me happy . . . PLEASE?"

_Not again—the Kirika look! Too many Kirika looks! Why can't they all go away?_ Mireille's stiff, cold face fell to a cornered, emotional expression. She closed her eyes to stop the eye contact. _First Chloe, now Henri? _Even haunting, burning eyes stared at Mireille in her mind.

"So, are you about finished blanking out or not? We're going onto the playground."

Mireille opened her eyes again. Chloe was on her way toward the playground packed with children and supervising parents. Yet, Henri still stood there, hoping the other half of Noir would join to complete his satisfaction. Mireille shot a look at Chloe, questioning with her eyes why Chloe would obey a little twerp like Henri. With him clinging to them, it would be easier to get him in an alley and finish their mission.

_I got to get a hold of myself . . . _Mireille's hand rested gently across her forehead as if it was too hot outside. She sighed, thinking back to moments with Kirika, comparing her and Chloe. Kirika would have done the same thing Chloe was doing right now: join other people, make them happy, and be normal. It appeared that the maroon-haired girl wanted to try out a day as a normal girl, instead of some cloaked weirdo in days of Noir. Thinking this over, Mireille realized that Kirika and Chloe's goals were completely opposite. Kirika wanted to be normal, while Chloe wanted to be Noir. She assumed Chloe was trying to blend in, either for Mireille's sake or Kirika's wish.

"You're daydreaming again. Hurry up. I wanna' go practice throwing daggers, Corsican."

"Yeah, Noir, put your bags over there!" suggested Henri, pointing to a bench near the playground for their shopping bags.

Mireille stared at Chloe. "Daggers? Practice for what—?"

"C'mon Noir! Let's go on the tire-swing, and the monkey bars, and the slide, and the swings—ooh, let's race!" Henri darted off, urging Chloe to race him, which she did.

"They're not listening." Mireille glared after both figures as they dashed onto the playground.

It surprised her so much that Chloe would even race a little boy. Then again, the girl was truly just a childish being deep down her Noir personality. Maybe being with people whom she could act childish and be herself with was Chloe's reason.

Mireille observed Henri, who whined aloud, "A~W~W~W, you're too fast! Unfair!"

"_You_ wanted to run," said Chloe.

Mireille watched. "What . . . was that I just saw on her face?" She swore a small smile spread across Chloe's face, after seeing Chloe turn her head and watch little Henri run pathetically. Mireille followed Chloe's gaze, watching how happy Henri was as he turned and acknowledged "fork girl" with a cheery smile. It dawned on Mireille how impossible it was for someone to be _that_ happy. Just impossible.

As she studied Henri, whom with Chloe first tested the tire swing, she dug out something: if there was to be such a thing as the Soldats having a "heart" in their organization, it'd be Henri. So far, he was the only Soldat Mireille considered had a heart. The rest of the members only wanted to protect their own interests, no one else. The only time there were goodhearted Soldats Mireille could recall . . . were her parents.

The French's blue eyes fell back upon Chloe, who stood clueless as Henri taught her how to use the tire swing. As Mireille peered closer, she drowned herself into Chloe's eyes, trying to unveil what emotions ran about in those eyes these days. And found nothing, but a simple look.

_A gentleness in her eyes. She IS just like Kirika,_ mused Mireille, shocked that she felt herself almost smile. _Like Kirika, she pities the lives she takes—especially the innocent lives. _Mireille sucked in some fresh air, as she brushed through her blonde bangs._ I see . . . To make up for what she is about to do to him, all she can do for him is play with him. Kirika would have done that. _

Mireille's blue eyes remained swimming in the enigmatic eyes of Chloe. _I've changed my mind. She's not Kirika . . . nor is she my friend—but she's CHLOE. And she's mercy. How sweet sorrow can be._

_--_

Five minutes later, Mireille reseted one arm behind her head against the tree behind her, reading a magazine. Behind her, Chloe pushed Henri on the swings. The exuberant boy spread his arms like helpless wings. His legs projected forward as he met the breeze in the air.

"WEEEEEEEEEE! Look, no arms!" declared Henri.

"Oh wow, you must be gifted. Now try flapping your arms and soar out of my life," returned Mireille sarcastically.

"Quit the dramatic sarcasm," said Chloe. "Be nice."

Moments later, Mireille still ignored the little twerp spinning around like a twister on the tire swing. Her eyes surfed the page of her magazine as Henri called out to her tentatively, "Um . . . Noir . . .?" Mireille had hoped her spinning him on the tire swing hard enough would keep him from bouncing around her like a gleeful bunny.

Like the day could go any slower.

Next thing she knew, Mireille felt hard shoes kick against her back, interrupting her peaceful reading. "Ow."

"S~O~R~R~Y Noir," hollered Henri from his dangling on the monkey bars. His legs kicked and flailed.

Mireille gave an "angry smile", trusting that her smile would cover how truly angry she was at the annoying boy. "That felt and sounded like you did that on purpose . . ."

Chloe recognized the angry smile. With a fist on her hip, she casually picked on Mireille. "Weren't you just mad? Yet, you grin."

Mireille Bouquet would not stand being ridiculed and outsmarted by a cloaked jerk with triangular, maroon hair. She whipped around sharply, half-shouting, "Got something stupid to say, fork girl? Cuz I got plenty of punches to go around."

"Yeah. You. Are. A. Spaz." Chloe stared with a poker face. Mireille had to give the girl her props for keeping on a good, straight, emotionless face on.

"Tch . . .!"

Henri found this quite interesting, as he licked the ice-cream cone Noir bought him. He switched his fixed gaze from Chloe to steaming Mireille. _Ooh, Noir's fighting . . . verbally._

"Wanna' say that again?" Mireille growled.

"Spaz."

It was fine with her that she could end up killing Chloe from a pointless bicker, stupid or not. If Henri wanted some inspirational Noir action, he would get it. Mireille swung her pink purse into view, her hand ready to slide in to retrieve her gun.

"You wanna' fight, fork girl? I got your pain right here," announced Mireille.

"Think where we are, blondie," hissed Chloe quietly.

"You called me _what!?"_

Henri broke in, "Um, Mistress Bouquet, Mistress Chloe _is_ better than you."

Before Mireille could throw any more verbal hurts, Chloe put her fists on her hips as she tilted her stare away from Mireille. "Honestly, I'm getting sick of you and your spazing-out mode."

Mireille glared on, as if wanting to hear Chloe say more insults as an excuse to shoot her. Chloe's next words seemed to be at first hesitant, but she used them as an advantage. "Just . . . just because she's gone, doesn't mean you can vent on everyone."

_How DARE she! _Mireille's eyes widened, the water-like gentleness in them soon roaring. Henri, on the other hand, froze midway from taking another bite of his ice-cream, gaping at Noir.

_Uh oh . . ._ he thought.

Mireille's eyes thinned into a hateful scowl. "How _dare_ you . . .! How could you say you were her 'half", when she wasn't even anything like _you_! You selfish, rude, emotionless—"

"Well, well, will you lookee at the time. According to my watch, it's time to see mommy!" Henri pointed at his wrist, apparently possessing no watch at all, with an absolute zero smile packed on his face. Then he turned around and fled, shouting back to Noir, "Same time and place?—Okay, bye!"

The moment he left, Mireille turned around and struck her hand into her purse to get her gun, shouting, "THAT'S IT! WE'RE FINISHING THIS!"

A click ensued as she aimed the gun for Chloe. In response, Chloe bent low as she unsheathed her throwing knives. "Agreed."

At that same moment, both in unison aimed their weapons and fired, Mireille down on one knee to dodge Chloe's throwing knife, and Chloe striding to the left to dodge Mireille's bullet. But before either's weapons could reach the other, a gigantic fist grabbed hold of Mireille's wrist and thrust it to the side, staggering her aim. As for Chloe's throwing knife, it was not in Mireille's flesh nor in sight.

Taken by surprise, Mireille's eyes flashed sideways, only to find Deux standing there, nibbling on his cigarette. "Jeez, Noir, I'm getting paid to keep ya two from keel-ling each other. Don't 'cha blow it off on meh."

"GOD, you have big hands—" grunted Mireille, trying to release her hand.

But before she could do anything, she suddenly felt weightless.

Deux, due to his large height, simply lifted his powerful arm. He certainly proved that was fat was power.

Mireille dangled in his high grasp. "Hey, what the—Deux, put me DOWN!"

"Beeter put that gun down, ya Noir? We wouldn't want anyone getting hurt," grumbled the thug in a low, gangsta-like tone.

Pierre stepped into Mireille's sight, spinning Chloe's throwing knife in his grasp. This time, he wore a white casual shirt pretty much like the way Valerie had worn hers. "Noir, do please try not to kill each other. It'd cost us a lot to pick up the mess."

He turned to the stupefied Chloe. With a relaxed smile, he beamed at her and added, "And please don't waste your knives."

Chloe glared like an unwelcoming cat. "You really are like Valerie. Can't mind your business."

Ignoring her statement, Deux said through his gritted teeth that munched his cigarette, "Ya suppoz ta keel za _boy_, Noir."

Mireille knew at first thought that Deux and Pierre had been spying on them with Henri. They must have been not pleased by the sight of Noir spending their spare time with their target, their "enemy".

She kicked ridiculously, hearing Deux grumble, "What a loser," while she tried aiming her gun at him. "Let go of me, or—"

"Or what? Ya gonna' whack meh with eh purse?" sneered Deux.

Pierre sighed, hand tucked into his pocket, as he couldn't help but grin at the sight of Deux and Mireille. "Yup. Deux is a 'thug', all right."

Chloe, next to him, shook her head, eyeing Mireille. "I laugh at you. Yet again, you're a shame to Noir."

Mireille slapped Deux with her purse after all the effort she'd gather to reach up toward his broad face. "YOWSERS, NOIR—!"

Like a blithe feline, Mireille landed, barely tapping the ground. She backed up from Deux, who clutched his head. "Tell me Noir didn't just pummel meh weeth eh purse."

"Um, I hate to admit the purse was _your_ idea," Pierre told him with a weak, gentle smile, rubbing the nape of his neck.

Chloe looked away, hating Mireille for what she did. "Yes, she whacked you with a purse. Another shame to our reputation." She'd hope Mireille would do something a bit more impressive. Why not hammer Deux in the "forbidden zone" for all Chloe cared?

_Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow._ As Mireille rubbed her bruised wrist from Deux's tight grab, she grumbled, "Just tell us what you came here for!"

Pierre cut to the chase with a low look. "It's about Henri and . . . about the leader of the new Soldats, Sir Salvas."

_This is new._ Mireille and Chloe's eyes lit up at the news.

Everyone watched and listened intently, as a green leaf fluttered by. Pierre's hand struck out and caught it between his graceful fingers. He traced the softness underneath his chin with the leaf as he explained, "You know, the new Soldats are really powerful. The Soldats of Old were less intelligent, but were of an ancient intelligence, and malevolent power. Meaning, if you try to defy them or run away from them, they'll hunt for you, they'll find you, and they'll catch you. Maybe even kill you."

Reaching out to the sky with mercy, Pierre released the leaf, continuing with a soft tone full of admiration and care. "If you think about it, the Soldats are like the wind. As you already know, the wind is everywhere. Even the slightest breeze, slightest current . . . is the breath of the Soldats breathing down your neck. They are always there, ya know." His sparkling gaze traced the invisible trail the flying leaf left. "And we're like the leaves, clinging to the tree of life. Most of us leaves are flimsy and weak. If we're weak enough, the wind will rip us off the tree of life and carry us away. And will control our direction, our decisions, our lives."

"And if you're those strong leaves, fresh, green, and strong, you are worthy to be Noir," finished Deux, flicking off blackness from the tip of his cigarette.

_Words of a true Soldat . . .!_ thought Chloe.

Watching her, Mireille was creeped out by Chloe's sudden change of facial expressions. _Whoa. Another Kirika look._ Mireille studied the oblivious assassin. _I don't get it. First thing you know, she's serious, sarcastic, and deadly—next thing, she's buoyant, innocent, and inspired so easily. I think she truly is someone I don't. Kirika probably knew Chloe's other side better than I do._

Mireille stopped rubbing her wrist as she gave an uninterested look. "Just get to the point. So what is about this Sir Salvas, huh? What's so great about him? Sounds like another puppeteer holding your leashes. What kind of man would order an eleven-year-old's sanction?"

Hearing about Altena was good enough for Mireille to know, after discovering it was Altena's fault that Kirika became her family's murderer. It gave her a reason to be interested, an excuse to hate Altena. Yet, hearing of Salvas and his slightly different interest in the sake of the Soldats, was not any good scrap out of the trash.

At Mireille's last feed backs, Pierre and Deux's heads perked up with an edgy, threatening look. Pierre's eyes suddenly became glossy with a dangerous, steel look. In front of Mireille, Pierre approached her and gave an untrusting grin, tilting her chin up in his lecherous hands.

"Don't EVER question Lord Salvas like that."

"You hittin' on me?" said Mireille with a rather flat, yet solid look.

Pierre bent down closer, until his lips were barely near Mireille's. Mireille tried inching away, as he whispered, "You'll regret talking about Sir Salvas that way. Sir Salvas, the greatest Soldat of all time—"

There was that click anyone would recognize, the click of steel metal. The pointy head of Chloe's throwing knife pricked the nape of Pierre's neck.

"And you said you weren't a pervert," alarmed Chloe in a killer's tone.

In return, Pierre cooly replied, "I'm not, I'm just letting her know—"

"Leave. You're a disgrace to the Soldats."

Pierre stepped back from Mireille, who gently rubbed the skin which he had touched on her cheek. "You . . ." she harshly hushed.

"Yes, yes, yes. 'You pervert'," mocked Pierre with an unusual smile. "Well, we will be going. We'll see you later—don't forget to kill Henri!"

He said that with a cheery, Pierre wave and in such a happy tone, Mireille thought he was mentally mad.

Chloe flicked around her throwing knife in her hand, stopping it with a professional grab, Pierre and Deux's faces reflected off her blade's shiny face. Before they left, she called, "I thought you were going to tell us about Sir Salvas . . ."


	8. The Hidden Root

Chapter 8:

The Hidden Root

Back at Mireille's apartment, a thoughtful silence smothered the tension between Noir. At the pool table, the blonde rested her chin in the softness of her palm, eyes wandering into recollecting memories, dressed in her light purple pajama shirt. Her mind echoed Pierre's voice when he had explained more about Sir Salvas.

_"Did you know that Sir Salvas' leadership . . . is against Altena?" challenged Pierre, hiding his half-smugged face behind another leaf. _

_ Chloe's head perked up in full enemy alert, while words slapped Mireille in the face_: Oh yeah. I forgot this Altena still exists . . .

_ Pierre continued, "Which means, if you can get through Henri and kill Altena, we simply won't kill you. Work for us, and you'll be fine."_

_ Chloe's face tightened into a wolflike snarl, beady eyes stretching in ominous blackness. Mireille watched the reaction, while she gave a look of wonder, wondering why Henri's sanction has been decided. How did he defy the new Soldats in any way--did he sneak behind their back, murder another member, betray them in any way that was inexcusable?_

_ "And you'll still be able to stick to 'their black robes serve as shields'. Just kill Henri and Altena," demanded Deux._

Every single being in the handful of people who knew the Soldats should have known that a member could never go against their leader, especially when that leader was Altena. Altena, the one woman who held the leash to Chloe, the one hand that fed those black hands. Mireille probably knew out of everybody how much Altena meant to Chloe—now that Kirika was dead—after those attempts she made to murder the woman she's never met. At that very moment, behind her, Mireille could smell the fact that Chloe was worrying, confused, and wondering at the window. She figured that the naive assassin was trying to figure a way how to save Altena without the new Soldats spying or knowing.

But instead, Chloe, who was at the window in her new purple-pink pajamas, spoke. "Is . . . Noir . . . just a tool to use? Are we really . . . being used?"

The voice was monotonous; Mireille was surprised the girl wasn't crying, but then again, that was Chloe. She'd never act like that like the one time Mireille saw her when she was near Kirika at their moonlit tea party. This was Chloe. Chloe would never cry ever again in front of Mireille, even if Mireille knew what it felt like to lose a friend such as Kirika. The only time she cried was when they lost Kirika.

_Kirika_.

That strong soul of a wounded demon, yet the tender, childish tenderness in her eyes. That simple figure that held thousands of words of consoling love, respect, and understanding. Always trying to understand, and befriend. Quiet, yet caring, and strong willed. She was the silent treatment that had soothed Mireille's personality from hard rock to a pearl. Now that she was gone, Mireille and Chloe felt lost in the sand.

"I always thought we were protecting the innocent," marveled Chloe in a disappointed tone. "Not to gain power. That's what Noir really is all about . . . I think."

Mireille hated Chloe's words. Behind them, she truly knew the girl was only asking for sympathy. And that angered her because Chloe killed Kirika, accidentally or not. Mireille recalled herself forgiving Chloe back before they met Henri again, but she now took that all back. She was pissed. Everything that happened, even those little tender moments between Noir, didn't change the fact that Chloe killed Kirika!

Then again . . . Kirika killed _her_ family.

And she didn't mean it—it was because of Altena.

Chloe killed Kirika . . . it was because of Mireille herself.

But Mireille's indignation spoke for her and out of her control. _"Tell me_ you're not asking me something I don't know the answer to . . . Don't even get me started. It's your fault Kirika's even dead!"

The young teenager's grasp clenched around her throwing knife, which was secretly by her side.

"Think about it, fork girl," snarled Mireille, barely glimpsing over her shoulder at the back of Chloe. "If it weren't for this ridiculous Noir ritual, Kirika wouldn't have died. And we wouldn't be here, then."

"If I were to be in your position, I'd say if it weren't for her trying to find out more about Noir, you wouldn't have _met_ her."

How dare she. How _dare_ she.

Mireille whirled around. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO LOSE SOMEONE FOR THE HUNDREDTH TIME!?"

Her blazing blue eyes questioned Chloe. In such a calm manner, Chloe slowly turned her head, looking at Mireille over her shoulders.

"YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO LOSE A BROTHER, A MOTHER, A FATHER, A LOVER, AN UNCLE—and a BEST FRIEND!" Mireille practically roared belligerently at those last words to emphasize. Tears spat the air and spoiled her skin with their warm wetness.

Chloe stared emotionlessly, but with thought.

Mireille's mouth opened, but closed, as she silently gaped, waiting.

Chloe looked away back out the window. "To be honest . . . I don't know what it's like to lose a family or a lover. Because . . ." She placed her hand onto the glassy surface, as if hoping the reflection's hand would be Kirika's touching back. "The only family I've had is Altena. And the only friend is . . ."

Nothing could keep her eyes from stealing a glance at her secret cocktail fork. Tears bit her eyes, as well as the loneliness inside her, that burned, as if she had already gone to hell.

There was a knock.

Then more.

Kinda' out of it, both Noir looked toward the door with half-conscious expressions. Chloe slid her fork away from sight, while Mireille tread toward the door. She opened it, peering from behind it.

"Hey Noir—!"

SLAM.

Mireille closed the door at immediate sight of Pierre. She turned around, glared, and folded her arms. Behind the door, the loud knocking turned into banging. "Hey, Noir!"

"What is it?" Chloe came in to check on status. "Is it another Soldat?" When Mireille didn't answer due to her stunned, silent manner, Chloe tried snapping her out of it. "Corsican! Who was it?"

In one breathless answer, Mireille sighed. _"PIERRE."_

"So it _is_ a Soldat?"

"Um, Noir, just because I look and dress like a boy, doesn't mean it makes me a pervert like my brother." Noir turned around only to find Valerie leaning her arm against the door frame, with an annoyed, yet confused look. And she was right. She did wear boyish clothes: a thin, red, puffy jacket, where the collar had a buttoned strap to close it up at any cold chance. She wore baggy pants once more and sneakers. It was her striking resemblance to Pierre and greased-back, short hair that made Mireille mistook her as her brother.

Before anyone could say anything, Chloe simply punched Mireille in the arm with the back of her hand. "You _idiot,_ it's only Valerie."

When Chloe's hand withdrew, Mireille gave a snobby look. "That didn't hurt."

"Believe me, it wasn't my hardest."

Chloe walked away, her attention completely fixed on Valerie.

_THAT would hurt,_ thought Mireille. She rubbed her arm.

"What are you doing here? You're not supposed to even be here." Chloe went nose-to-nose with Valerie, anger flashing in her eyes, complete, unquestionable hatred in her hushed, flat tone.

"I love you too, Chloe. Nice to see you after all these years," said Valerie sarcastically. Then she gave a cock of her head as she added, "What _are_ you talking about, Noir?"

Chloe growled, "Think about it. You, your brother, and Deux are against Mistress Altena's leadership and beliefs of the Soldats of Old. Anyone against her is my enemy. Get out!"

Normally Mireille would have agreed, but for some reason, she sensed Valerie only came for a good reason that was still unclear. Was there another message? A change of targets? Whatever it was, it brought Valerie. She wouldn't just come to give more ice-cream.

Mireille raised her arm, giving it a caring rub. "Just let Valerie explain herself, fork girl."  
"_Stop_ calling me that!" said Chloe abruptly, as she turned sharply to reprimand Mireille. "And are you saying you're _trusting_ the enemy?"

"Well," said Mireille calmly, tightening the knots on her pajama shirt collar, "I wouldn't say I'd _completely_ trust her . . ."

Valerie observed the interaction between the two.

"It would appear that you don't know your enemies right," snarled Chloe, eyes thinning especially at her so-called partner. "Especially when they're standing before you. You're too soft. You're too easy-going on them—you've _changed."_

Mireille's eyes flared at Chloe's wrong accusations.

"If I want to dispose myself of a Soldat who is an enemy of my mistress, I'll do it," finished Chloe, glaring.

Before Mireille could back-talk, Valerie cupped her hands behind her head, inquiring, "Did you guys, like, switch personalities?"

Mireille frowned, rubbing her crinkled eyebrows. "No. I'm just sick of frowning. It's a lot of use of muscle to frown than to smile. It's giving me a damn headache."

"You don't even have the right to speak, enemy," interrupted Chloe, who peeked from behind her throwing knife. "I could kill you right now."

Right out of the blue, Valerie only smiled at that last statement with acceptance. "If that is Noir's desire, then I shall not go against it. Go ahead, and thrust the knife."

Mireille froze.

_What the hell? _

_"Why?"_

Valerie and Chloe turned their attention to Mireille.

"Why? Why do you adore—_worship_—the Soldats? What's so great about the Soldats?" Mireille spoke in a hush like tone, while Valerie and Chloe listened intently. "People die over this 'religion', this stupid belief, this piece of shit. Needless deaths, lies, and darkness. And worse . . . freedom. You have no freedom . . ."

Chloe glared at Mireille already, despising her words of pathetic sympathy, despising the fact that she was questioning the Soldats' superiors and other authorities, insulting their beliefs.

"No freedom to believe in whatever you wish; no desire to even try to free yourself of sin . . . No freedom to love—heh, love, only required to produce more offspring to the Soldats. It's the thing that bonds us to fear, and separates us from the ones we once loved . . ."

All of a sudden, Valerie winced and swayed, as Mireille added, "It _ruins_ our lives and our _relationships_ . . ."

"Shit . . ." hissed the Soldat, glaring into thought, as if trying to block out memories.

"Valerie . . .?" Mireille and Chloe realized that Valerie became suddenly sidetracked.

Mireille gently placed her hand on Valerie's shoulder to shake the woman to reality. "Hey . . . what is it?"

Valerie looked at Mireille, looping a loose strand of her own hair behind her ears. Then, she gently smiled and said, "Yeah, I'm fine—"

"VALERIE," indicated Chloe with a firm look, leaning on the pool table with a stringent mother's face on. "Before I hurt you, tell us what you're here for . . . _now_."

"Because . . ." Valerie inclined her head, looking down, away from Noir's eyes. Eyes full of a strange softness, unfamiliar.

Noir gave puzzled faces, keeping their watch on the Soldat.

"Because . . ." The Soldat looked up.

Chloe looked from Valerie to Mireille. "Somehow, I think she's talking to you . . ." she told Mireille quietly.

Mireille gave Chloe her own quizzical look.

"Wait, WHAT? What do you mean? What are you talking about?" blabbered Mireille cluelessly. "What—?"

"I'll sleep outside again if you stop that," said Chloe.

Valerie's voice pulled their attention from each other: "Because . . . I want to be here with the one person . . . I was to be Noir with . . ."

Hearing this, Mireille and Chloe's eyes lit up, not quite sure if they'd heard right.

"Someone . . . with whom I was _supposed_ to be Noir . . ." explained Valerie, the gentleness and inspiration glowing in her orbs. She looked up, eyes directed right at the blonde, who gave half a surprised, yet clueless look.

Chloe looked from Valerie to Mireille.

Valerie's last words certified the entire reason why she was there with Noir: "Someone who I was supposed to be Noir with . . . Mireille Bouquet."


	9. Flying

Chapter 9:

Flying

A mixture of black and brown ripples danced in the tea cup, reflecting what Valerie said last night.

_"I wanted to be of the most devoted service to Noir," explained Valerie, with the happiest smile on her face, eyes glowing with care. "I wanted to be . . . with you, Mireille. Just like how Mistress Chloe wanted to be with Mistress Kirika."_

_ Chloe gave a half-interested, half-blank expression to Valerie's last words before she left the apartment and shut the door gently._

It was nine in the morning. Mireille sat with her hands folded before her in her new grape-colored shirt, with shoulders bared to allow tanktop straps visible; she half-hid her pondering face as she glanced at her reflection in the coffee.

As always, Chloe stood near the window. Either it was a way of reminding herself how Kirika endured through stunning moments, or it truly was a fact that Chloe was Kirika's actual "half". And that frustrated Mireille, not to mention the fact how Chloe wore casual attire was now much like the way Kirika dressed. Indeed, she was content and getting used to Chloe dressing like that. She actually had a fondness for Chloe's sleeveless white vest with black shadings on the sides and rolled up jeans she wore this morning. But despite all her praises, she hated that Chloe was a haunting figment of Kirika. It scared and angered Mireille altogether.

Yet, since her mind was focused on Valerie.

Mireille lifted her head, voice full of awe, yet complete surprise and wonder. "I can't believe . . . she was another candidate for Noir . . . that she was supposed to be Noir, with _me_."

"She was probably one of the chosen candidates out of many others," noted Chloe matter-of-factly, admiring her shiny throwing knife. "But she failed to make it to the 'finals'. But, who would want to be Noir with you? You have no potential."

That last statement was obviously an attempted insult.

"Thanks for stating the obvious for the umpteenth time."

"I'm done talking about Valerie. She gets on my nerves."

Was that . . . a _complaint?_ Did Mireille just hear Chloe _complain?_ Mireille almost burst out chuckling, but bit it in by drinking her tea.

"Valerie is none of my concern; I will hold no remorse if I could kill her. Besides, we have Henri to kill. We have to kill him today. Or else . . ." Chloe's voice faded off.

"Yeah, yeah, or "eets the altar for us'," mimicked Mireille, imitating Deux's accent.

"We should find him in case plans go astray." Chloe nonchalantly hopped off the window sill and sauntered away to put on some shoes.

Staring into the brown liquid of her tea, Mireille blurted, "How could you care so less about people?"

Chloe stopped in her tracks, considering Mireille's meaningless words. "I thought you hated Henri as well."

"Hating him doesn't mean I want to kill him," informed Mireille. "In fact, I think you're worse than I am. You're a worse murderer. You're a devil. And you take lives without hesitation."

"Isn't it obvious?" Chloe didn't sound happy nor mad. Just normally flat. "I was raised like this. I'm Noir."

Mireille hastily marched out of the room, putting on her everyday black boots, opening the door. "Noir, Noir, that's all I hear from you. I can't believe you forgot that because of Noir, Kirika ended up dead. Now let's go . . ."

--

By the time they finished grocery shopping and erasing the last evidence in Mireille's e-mail that she was an assassin, they were back at the park. It was around the same time they met Henri, around midday. Under a tree, Mireille and Chloe looked around in search for that hopping bunny.

"Where is that little punk?" cursed Mireille with an impatient fist on her hip.

Chloe came up with her own delusionary excuses for Henri. "Probably sucking on a baby's little rattle . . ."

Mireille walked around the tree to see if she could see the boy from any different angles, as Chloe rambled on with excuses for Henri's being late.

". . . Or playing ball. Or flying off a swing . . ."

Mireille glanced at the pockewatch, praising it for its ability to tell time despite its injuries.

". . . Or getting lost in the woods—or even better, hitting his groin on the sea-saw—"

All of a sudden, they heard a big _crunch_ from above that sounded like leaves trembling against each other. Mireille felt soft limbs go around her, but they suddenly grew heavy she thought she was going to get a concussion. But before she could react, she screamed. Chloe turned and observed.

"HENRI! GET OFF ME! Where did you come from anyway?" roared as Henri raised his arms in the air, enjoying his piggy back ride.

"YAYYYYY! Noir's giving me a piggyback ride! YAY!"

"You Soldats sure have your ways of popping in out of nowhere," mumbled Mireille, trying to thrust Henri's legs from around her neck. Henri fought back by holding onto Mireille's hair. The only way to stop him was to stop tugging since it hurt Mireille's hair.

Chloe approached Mireille and bent down to share the same eye level with the bent-over blonde. "I would laugh and ridicule you, but I can see you're in enough humiliation."

Mireille glowered at her with menacing, blue eyes of a steel-like tone. "You're getting hurt," she warned Chloe.

"Let's see you do that with a boy on your back."

Chloe stood straight with an intangible pride, hands tucked into her vest's pockets. "Be a good boy, Henri, and get off Corsican."

"You know your words are not helping, especially when you call me Corsican."

Henri started his infamous whining. "But, I like riding on Noir's back, Mistress." The young Soldat rested his chin heavily onto his arms, which folded on top of Mireille's head.

Chloe told herself she could just shrug and say, "Fine be me, it'll keep her off _my_ back," but she knew the consequences.

"PLEASE, NOIR!?"

In one breath, Chloe argued, "HENRI."

"Pleeeeeeezeeeee?"

Before Chloe could fight again in Mireille's defense, Mireille spoke for herself in defeat. She sighed. "Fine . . ."

"YAY!"

"Don't scream my ears off."

Respecting Mireille's request, Henri changed the subject without shouting. "Oh, and Noir, after we go play in the playground again, there's a special person of mine I'd like you to meet. She means a lot to me."

Noir fell into silence before Chloe said flatly, ". . . You have a girlfriend?"

"Cute," said Mireille sarcastically. When she was young, about the same time her family died, she didn't recall any of her friends having boyfriends or girlfriends around the same age as Henri.

Noir agreed to buy him ice-cream after he had stopped fake whining. From there, they sat at a barren picnic table. As Henri was satisfied with ice-cream, Mireille propped her chin upon the palm of her hand and threw a teasing smile.

"So, do please tell us about your girlfriend."

"Uh . . . sure," agreed Henri tentatively, his eyes saying otherwise.

Chloe broke in. "Your attributes aren't impressive to the point of gaining a girlfriend."

Obviously nervous by Noir's pressing questions, Henri pointed his ice-cream toward the playgroun; the top scoop fell off. "Hey, let's go play in the playground?"

"Ooh, he's embarrassed," teased Chloe in her mature, quiet voice.

Henri gave her a sharp look before leaping over the table, dropping his ice-cream. "C'mon Noir, let's go on the sea saw, and those horse-thingys!"

As the ice-cream dropped, now a puddle of paint-like colors, Chloe muttered, "You just wasted a perfectly good five dollar bill dropping that ice-cream."

"C'mon Noir! The horses are calling!" called Henri over his shoulder as he dashed toward the playground.

"Horses?" questioned Chloe.

"The equipment with springs beneath them," Mireille told her. "They're like horse-shaped sea saws with springs."

There was a burning silence, one Noir almost got used to.

With her arms dangling lazily along the table's edges, Mireille murmured, "It's hard to believe we have to kill him. He's an unusual boy, but still, he's sweet—but still annoying." Mireille peered over her shoulders at Chloe with wonder, her framing locks blocking half her face, leaving Chloe to only helplessly stare at the blue eyes. "So. When do we kill him?"

"Why you asking such a question?"

Mireille ignored Chloe's question. ". . . Not to mention that you've gained a fondness of him."

"That goes double for you: your sudden 'sympathy' for Valerie."

Ouch.

But it was the truth, both could not deny what each said about the other. What Mireille wanted to learn was why Chloe would kill someone she'd already grown fond of?

Mireille recalled that strange feeling she had when she first met Valerie. It had returned when Valerie announced that she was the forgotten sapling, when Valerie announced her feelings toward her becoming Noir with Mireille—if that came to be. What her main question was why she felt she had a connection with Valerie? Was it possible that, just like Chloe and Kirika, Valerie and Mireille had spent their childhood together in the Manor? That was impossible, though. Mireille spent her entire life with her family, happy and free of the world's cruelty, until her family's murder. She couldn't possibly recollect memories of being with a special blonde girl with eyes like hers—a girl named Valerie. There was just no way.

Unless . . . unless this was part of the Soldats' "harvest" plan. After all, they've planned the ritual of Noir ever since time began, the Medieval times. They've been harvesting and feeding the candidates for Noir; they've even chosen the candidates at birth. They've kept them under their power when they took the saplings from their parents. How could it not make sense that they even planned for Valerie to be cast away in the barren wind like Mireille had been from Chloe and Kirika?

But why is it that Valerie has been dug up from her soil _after_ the Noir ritual had already passed? To be completely honest, Mireille referred to be Noir with Valerie than Chloe—at least Valerie showed gentleness and mercy. What happened to that saying, "Noir: Blacker than back, burdened by sin, reaching out with mercy"? The mercy part Chloe didn't go by at all. She was merciless. Mireille used to be merciless, but not anymore. Kirika taught her otherwise. What else angered Mireille was the fact that Valerie didn't show up in time to become Noir with her before Kirika's death. Why couldn't it have just been Mireille and Kirika together as normal people why Valerie and Chloe become Noir together? It was after all both their dreams, not Kirika and Mireille's.

Then, Mireille remembered that in order for the purpose of Noir to make sense, only two candidates could work because they would be _two hands_ of the Soldats—they couldn't have four hands.

"Corsican," said Chloe.

Henri blurted, "C'mon, Noir, let's ride the horsies!"

"You're supposed to act like an eleven-year-old," snapped Mireille.

"I think that's how eleven-year-olds act . . . to him, I think," guessed Chloe, watching Henri hopelessly.

Henri, by that time, rocked back and forth on his horse that he almost touched the ground with the back of his head. "Look at me Noir! I'm upside-down!"

Before Mireille could give him a maturity-level lecture, Chloe sat on top of her own horse , clueless. "This is too small. How do you refer to these inanimate objects 'fun'?"

"YOU'RE NO MATURE THAN HE IS, CHLOE—and how'd you get there so quickly?" burst Mireille, glaring.

"Well, I'm not the immature person who's spazing. You should try it."

"C'mon, Chloe, you can't be serious—"

**"DO IT."** Chloe turned around with a killer's threat in her eyes, eyes as dark as her own hands, as she whispered, "Or we'll be stuck with him forever."

_Whoa . . ._ Mireille blinked a few times in astonishment at Chloe's grim aura. Then it dawned on her over why Chloe was being Henri's toy of the week. _Oh yeah, I forgot. She wants to do whatever she can to make him happy. Might as well help her._

Five minutes later she regretted her words. Next to her, Henri wooted and howled like a crazy boy playing with his action figures. She was in the middle, screaming in her head, while Chloe, on the other side of her, seemed pleased that Henri was happily satisfied . . . although she was pretty miserable herself. _Talk about putting others' feelings before yourself, _thought Mireille, glaring secretly at Chloe.

"WEEEEEE!"

"I wanna' inform you that I'm about to crush this thing," reported Mireille through a grumble. She was taller than the Asian-looking girl Chloe, and little Henri, thus, her knees touched the ground as she sat on her horse. She was pretty sure she heard cracking.

"Swing, swing! I love ponies! Noir's playing with me! Woo hoo!" sung Henri in a horrible, girlish tone.

"I can barely sit," complained Mireille.

**"ENJOY IT."** Chloe glared at her.

"Easy for you to say. You're petite. I bet you're not enjoying it."

"Be surprised. I am enjoying it."

"You're so childish."

"Enjoy while you can, Corsican. Before . . ." Chloe's voice trailed off, words unnecessary. Mireille barely nodded to show her comprehension.

Henri rocked back and forth on his horse like an elder on a rocking chair, exclaiming in Mireille's face once in a while. "C'mon Noir—" _Squeak,_ "You—" _Squeak,_ "—Try it!"

Henri gave a final heave before almost banging the back of his head against the ground behind him. "W~E~E~E~E!"

Chloe said gently, but a demand spoke softly behind her false, gentle voice. "Do it before I hurt you."

Mireille arched an eye brow at her. "'Violence is not the answer'."

"If it shuts him up and kills you, then yeah."

Henri called once more, like it would never stop. "A~W~W~W~E~E, PLEEEEEEEZEEEEE, Noir!? Try it! Noir?"

"NO!"

Henri stopped his horse. He gave Mireille a pouty face, dents appearing on his chin as he puckered his face. He sniffled. "But . . . but . . ."

Just when Mireille thought he'd do his worse crying and whining, he did something worse than she thought. He jumped on her from his rocking pony and shook her arm violently: "C'MON NOIR! DO IT NOW OR I'LL NEVER STOP SHAKING!"

"YOU'RE PRACTICALLY THROTTLING ME!" Pitiful Mireille's entire body shook under Henri's plight, her head bobbing back and forth like a bobbing head in a car.

Having enough with both Henri and Mireille, Chloe, with a straight face on and closed, concentrated eyes, reached out her arm. And shoved Mireille.

"GAHHHHHH! CHLOEEEE!"

She knew the blonde had better reflexes than meets the eye. When Mireille, in a quick reaction, noticed herself being shoved off her bobbing pony, her arms snatched out and grabbed hold onto the bars jammed into the fake horse's mouth. The force of Chloe's push sent Mireille bent backwards, her head barely missing the grazing of the grass, hair tumbling like a bunch of golden strings. Afterwards, she came back up again on her rocking pony. _Squeak. Squeak. Squeak._ Her face was a daffed expression.

Henri watched her, waiting. Chloe hid a secret grin, but her eyes were observant and alert.

Then, a fit of giggles flowed. Mireille and Chloe glanced at Henri. As Mireille listened with little understanding, Chloe shot a short, small smile before frowning again.

As Mireille watched Henri unable to control himself from laughter, she realized one thing. _His smile . . . reminds me of someone._ And for once, she knew it wasn't Kirika. She already knew Henri resembled Kirika, but this was different. Somewhere in that face, that laugh, that smile, she found someone else.

Mireille watched as Henri kept on laughing, almost falling off his horse. She only wished Kirika . . . had at least tried laughing, smiling more. Suddenly, with the thought of Kirika biting her mind, Mireille frowned, eyes yearning.

Henri broke her train of mourning thoughts. "C'mon Noir, you have to admit it's fun! It feels great, doesn't it? Like flying!" He still tried to shackle in bits of his "hee-hee's".

Mireille budged the best smile she could. "Hmm . . . I suppose you could say . . ." Her mind wandered off as she looked up at the sky fluffed with white, perfect clouds, almost like cushion-like cotton candy.

_I've never . . . felt like I've flown that high before . . . like that baby bird from the day I met Valerie. In fact, it felt like it was my first time—as if this whole time, I was a wounded beast in the darkness, with broken wings. But now, I guess, they're healing . . . _

Chloe stretched her arms to the air, grabbing hold of the other arm. "Tell me Corsican . . . Have you always lived your life that way? Taking no chances, not risking anything to have fun? Do you tend to keep that way?"

Mireille turned with an irritated look. "Don't even begin to pretend you're my psychologist."

Henri wagged his finger, a false, professional's look on his face. "Now, now Noir. Let's not fight and act like children—"

**"LIKE YOU?"** chorused Noir, more like stating instead of questioning.

_Now he act's "mature", _thought Mireille thought with a hopeless, raised eye brow.

_He's so immature,_ thought Chloe as she watched Henrim, who tried rambling again to Mireille, arms spread out as if he was a happy robin. A frown suddenly founds itself on Chloe's face. _And yet . . . I adore him. Because he reminds me of her. He looks so much like her. But . . . does Mireille see her in him? Is she thinking the same way as me?_

_Leave me alone._ Mireille rested her cheek on her palm, giving a half-bored, half-weirded out expression as Henri talked to her. However, despite her ignorance, she found herself strangely studying every little mannerism, smile, and glint of light in Henri's eyes.

All Chloe ever wanted was to be Noir with Kirika, and live happily, bound and devoted to each other in the darkness, no matter the amount of sins.

All Mireille ever wanted was to be free from the Soldats and her haunting past . . . only this time, she had hoped, late, that someone would be there to share that feeling of freedom with her.

All both ever wanted was to never be alone in this world.

Mireille glanced up; the blue, misty face above glanced back down at her. A black blur eclipsed the sun as a bird flew by. Mireille was envious of it.


	10. Past

Chapter 10:

Past

Mireille bent backwards on her pony.

"Hey Noir!" Valerie's head poked into view.

Mireille almost screamed, but instead, she reared her horse back into its normal position. "Whoa," she said, holding her head, eyes widened with blue confusion. She turned to Chloe. "I shouldn't go upside-down so much, because I could have swore I just saw Valerie."

"Yeah, you saw her, all right," declared Valerie.

Mireille stared over her shoulders, to find Valerie in the flesh. Only this time, for once, Valerie truly could have been identified as a girl. Instead of her casual shirt or jacket, she wore a bright, yet pale orange tank top, rimmed with gold. Pale greenish-gray khakis ruffled loosely in the breeze; big pockets bulged on the soft fabric of the shorts. A black belt consisted of tied-together strings wrapped itself around her hip. Her open-toed sandals crunched in the grass as she shifted cheerfully on her feet.

Valerie smiled. Observing her face, Mireille realized that Valerie's hair wasn't really smoothed back as always; more like loose, yet not fully down. It flowed in the gentle, warm breezes, a patch of bangs covering half of her face and barely hinting her other eye.

"At least you look like a girl for once," jested Mireille.

The female Soldat gave an arched eye brow before smiling. "Yup. I guess." She gave a short, mature chuckle, which sounded low and melodic, like a gentle mother and a loving, charming man's.

Chloe, on the other hand, turned away from Valerie, apparently showing her dislike. No one seemed to notice or mind her attitude.

Just when Mireille was going to say more, Henri bounced right off his pony and landed in front of Valerie, exclaiming, "Hey Mommy!"

Mireille and Chloe's heads immediately shot toward Henri and Valerie's direction.

"You said _what?"_ demanded Mireille, half in a daze. Chloe just stared with widened eyes.

As Henri and Valerie embraced like mother and son, Valerie gave Noir a puzzled look, and withdrew. She tilted her head. "What? You mean, Henri hasn't told you that I was his mother?"

"_That_ also explains the pretty looks," muttered Chloe. Mireille figured Chloe was even more angry at the fact that the person she despised was the mother of the person she secretly cared for.

Henri switched his eyes from his mother to Mireille. "What? Mommy, I thought _you_ told them I was your son. That's why I was so excited when I'd learn from Uncle Pierre that they'd come to visit me at the play ground."

Valerie and Henri gave each other and Noir confused looks. Then, Henri just laughed merrily. "Hee! I guess that doesn't matter anymore. Now, Noir knows!"

Valerie nodded with a fond smile.

Noir gaped. In their minds, they connected images of Pierre, Valerie, and Henri, trying to relate them in any way. The family of confusing genders explained everything; it made sense. Pierre looking like a girl, Valerie looking like a boy, Henri looking like both—who were the grandparents, then? And if Valerie was married with Henri as her son, then, did that mean Deux was her husband? Ewe.

"You're . . . not married to Deux, right?" pleaded Mireille, shuddering.

Valerie just smiled as if she was. "Nah. He's my brother's comrade. They go on missions together a lot.."

"I don't remember the Soldats being so weird," noted Chloe.

"Wait." Mireille took another glimpse at Valerie and Henri together. She looked around and blinked. "So, what about this special someone of yours, Henri?"

As if he was presenting a dignitary person, Henri gesticulated to his mother. He had a big grin on. "_She's_ my special somebody! I tried telling you that I didn't mean a girl friend, but you wouldn't listen, so I gave up. Ya, isn't she cool!"

"How the _hell_ do you call cross-dressing cool?" Mireille folded her arms.

"Ya, like you call riding a fake horse any cooler?" said Valerie, grinning. Apparently she caught Mireille at the right time, with a great combat.

"Hey, I was tired. I needed to sit somewhere." Mireille looked away with an annoyed, yet embarrassed expression.

Chloe finally joined the conversation. "Why _do_ you cross-dress?" she asked Valerie.

Valerie smiled a casual one. "So I can flirt with girls such as Mireille herself."

"WHAT—" began Mireille.

"GOT'CHA," exclaimed Henri and Valerie in unison, giving each other high fives. Henri giggled with delight while Valerie smiled proudly at herself.

Chloe almost broke into a smile, but held it and turned to Mireille. "They're good."

"Shut up."

Valerie and Henri laughed, either with Mireille or at her. Either way, Mireille had to suck it up.

Mother and son turned. Over her shoulder, Valerie said out, "C'mon Noir, let's have a picnic."

They navigated toward a shadier grassy area with a picnic basket Valerie had already grabbed; Henri skipped, picking up blades of grass.

Before Mireille edged after the two Soldats, Chloe stepped in front of her offensively. Mireille gave a puzzled look, but Chloe already explained with hard eyes.

"Are you forgetting they're _Soldats?_ Enemies? _Our_ enemies—Altena's enemies?"

Mireille falsely grinned at her. "Are you . . . _protecting_ me?"

Chloe glared and shouldered past Mireille, into the opposite direction. "I made a promise to her, remember?"

The older woman frowned after Chloe. Mireille shrugged. "Of course. Same here, unfortuantely."

Then she took another stare at Valerie and Henri a distance away. They were watched Noir with curious, yet confused looks.

Mireille turned from their eyes, and said, "I thought you had a fondness for He—"

Before she could blink, the swift teenager grabbed Mireille's collar, hissing, "We're going to be killing Henri anyway. And we're gonna' have to kill Valerie too, since she will be a witness and since she is our enemy."

Mireille slapped away Chloe's grasp on her collar. "Make up your mind. You're making things confusing. You're confusing _me_."

"You don't have to go along! Kill me if you want to once I execute the mission. Don't worry, I'll try killing you too if you interfere."

Mireille's pupils grew big with a nasty flash. "Chloe, I have to stay with you, as much as both of us hate it. Yet, I cannot let you kill Valerie."

Chloe pushed Mireille hard, yelling like a frustrated teenager, "Then why don't you just leave!"

Mireille grabbed the collar of Chloe's vest in return, and shook. "BECAUSE I MADE A PROMISE, TOO!"

There was a pause in their contradiction. Then, Chloe threw Mireille's hands off her. She backed up a few steps, growling in a low whisper, "I'm going to pretend I'm going to the rest room. When I'm out of sight, I'll thrust my daggers. And you won't stop me."

Mireille, though confused, listened to the thumping inside her, a burning heart telling her something. She followed Chloe ominously. "I won't allow you. At least have a last meal with them."

"I _can't_!"

That was almost a scream. Then, Mireille saw Chloe's tears. She stared. Chloe breathed, before breathlessly whispering, "I had a private meeting with Pierre last night. He thought our interaction with our target was a threat. He gave a warning: if we don't do it today, at the best moment we can catch, he'll order his spy nuns to murder Altena right on the spot—"

"I don't give a crap about Altena! Remember, because of her, Kirika died—" Mireille stopped in her words, staring at nothing but through Chloe, through everything. Chloe watched, still trembling after she was able to tell Mireille about Pierre's threat.

"What is it?" demanded Chloe.

Mireille looked back at Valerie and Henri, who were nervously watching them, not budging from where they were. Other nearby people secretly glanced at them with confusion. Mireille glanced back at Chloe, mouth open. "Pierre? _Pierre_ ordered you sanction Henri today—THE brother of Valerie, also _uncle_ of Henri?"

Mireille emphasized those last words to snap Chloe to realization. Like she, Chloe froze.

It struck the two that they were so dumbfounded by the striking relationships between Valerie, Pierre, and Henri, that it didn't occur to them that the uncle ordered for the death of his own _nephew_.

Noir looked back, dumbfounded, yet as calmly as they could at Valerie and Henri. Then, they watched silently as Henri came up to them with a worried look. He gave Chloe a piece of grass, eyes asking along with his words, "Are you all right, Mistresses?"

Chloe stared into his eyes, lost in the depths of his innocence. Mireille watched both, then looked away. Then, she jerked up her head high and smacked on an immediate, false smile.

"Everything's fine. Let's have a picnic, shall we?" And walked away, looking at the silent Chloe at the corner of her eye.

The heedless boy took her words to heart, and happily skipped back to his mother with Mireille. Chloe followed somberly. Valerie greeted everyone, especially her son, by hugging him and picking him up in her motherly arms. Noir watched with dismal eyes, but sham smiles, as they watched their happy targets unaware of the situation.

Now a poisonous question lingered between Mireille and Chloe: Whose side were they on now? Save Altena, the only person who was close enough looking like Kirika, or the person who Mireille had grown a fondness of?

--

Like any eleven-year-old, Henri grew drowsy somewhat during the day's picnic. He curled up in his mother lap, his stomach satisfied with a full weight of delicious food. The boy snuggled against her as Valerie cradled him against her bosom, smiling with pure, unrivaled love. Henri fell asleep eventaully.

As Noir watched him, they glanced at Valerie, whose eyes were on her loving son . . . her only. There was an awkward silence, spiced with fear and confusion. Chloe remained nibbling on her share of bread like a mute, baby rabbit. Mireille held the half-bitten sandwich in her hand, looking at the same picnic blanket from her first encounter with Valerie.

"He's a good boy, huh?"

Noir stared at Valerie, who returned their stare with a faultless smile.

Valerie gave a short laugh. "It seems you've grown fond of him already. I know, he's hard not to grow fond of."

Mireille nodded, while Chloe bit into her bread.

"He never knew his father, though."

Noir looked, blinking. Chloe stopped chewing, although her face remained unchaged—then kept chewing; Mireille put down her sandwich, feeling rather queasy and unsettled in the mind.

"His name was Silas," began Valerie, endearment in her crystal-blue eyes, like caressing waters over sand. "I wasn't at the Manor like Mistress Chloe and Kirika—like you, Mireille, I was set cast in the wind in different soil. I grew up in a village near the border of France, sort of close to the Manor, training. It was during my training, though, that I met Silas, a traveler that happened to walk by my village. And I fell in love. He returned that love, and I abandoned my position as a candidate for Noir. I decided to throw aside the beliefs of Noir, realizing that I loved him more than being Noir with you, Mistress.

"Then . . ." Valerie drew in a big breath, but smiled. "He left me with his son, regretting for not telling that he had his wife and children waiting at home. And we didn't even marry." The Soldat inclined her head in regret and despair. "I was so foolish. Then, because of that experience, I returned to finish my training as a candidate, realizing that the harsh trials were only teaching me the cruelty of this world. And I believed them. But I was too late. You had already become Noir with Mistress Chloe."

In courtesy, Valerie bowed her head to Mireille and Chloe.

In a hushed voice, Mireille demanded gently, "Don't bow to me. I never asked to be Noir."

Mireille stared sideways at Chloe, who returned the look with comprehension. They weren't going to kill just any Soldats—they were going to sanction a fatherless boy who has now been betrayed by his own uncle; they were going to murder a Soldat's messenger, who once was a Noir candidate, betrayed by the illusions of the heart, with her only son she loved despite the betrayal done to her.

"Tell me, Valerie," whispered Mireille, closing her eyes, staring at nothing but darkness within, "what would become of Noir if Altena was killed?"

To Valerie, it was out of the blue, but she didn't seem to care, as if it was all harmless information to tell. "My brother, Deux, and I are one of many new Soldats under the new leader, Sir Salvas. He's against Altena, though. Henri and I are against Altena as well, but it doesn't mean we want to kill her. We just despise the cruelty of her beliefs in Le Grand Retour. After seeing what Le Grand Retour did to me, Pierre joined me, too, into the new organization of Soldats. Deux was already a member when we joined.

"Some Soldats, old or new, still admire the purpose of Noir, others don't. Some of us new Soldats even wouldn't care if Noir died or not—I'm not saying I don't care, I do—I was supposed to be Noir with you, Mistress. But, some of us would like to have Noir on our side against Le Grand Retour. Others wouldn't care if Noir died because that would end Le Grand Retour and Altena's purpose in her leadership. In fact."

Valerie's eyes lit up as if she was spilling satisfying information to Mireille. "I heard lately that members within our organization are trying to find some way to get Noir on _our_ side, so Noir can kill Altena and end Le Grand Retour."

Chloe's fist tightened her grip on her bread that it crumbled to pieces. She glared at Valerie, but Mireille glared at her, so she stopped and listened with all the respect she could give.

Valerie resumed. "I just don't know who exactly are the agents to pull off something like that. I thought, Haven't they forgotten that Chloe is part of the True Noir—she's the one who _adores_ Altena. She would never kill Altena."

Chloe nodded hard, giving Valerie her props for thinking correctly.

Valerie shifted her sleeping legs due to the snoring body in her lap. "It's also said that these agents are trying to get rid of their own member. Something that has to do with status being leaked to Altena's side."

Chloe's mind snapped. She stared at Mireille to see if Mireille caught the story between Valerie's lines. The French was already looking her way, and she didn't stare or nod—just blinked and looked back at Valerie, who was unaware.

Noir finally understood. The agents trying to find this double agent were Deux and Pierre. It made sense, because they wanted Noir to shoot Henri, which meant Henri was the target Valerie heedlessly mentioned. Henri was the double agent. What Noir wanted to understand was _why_ Henri switching sides? Did it have anything to do with them?

Mireille's fist held the picnic blanket beneath her. So Pierre was trying to _use_ them to kill Henri, the "secret source, the double agent", the _target_!? What Mireille wanted to know was _what_ was Pierre's plan to get Noir onto his side?

_Oh yeah. Threatening Altena_. That was simple enough, yet, it impacted a big hole in everything since Chloe wouldn't allow such a thing to occur.

But no . . . that wasn't it. There was more. Mireille wanted to learn how crazy the Soldats were thinking—how the Soldats would ever get Noir to work for them for _life_? They had _something_ going on.

Mireille firmly stood her ground. Valerie noticed the tension—any Soldat should know what Noir is like by now. But, for her, she knew Mireille more than anyone—besides, probably Kirika . . .

"Noir, what's wrong?" Valerie blinked as Mireille looked back.

Mireille smiled. "I had a stomach ache, but I fought it back. Could you pass the cheese, please?"


	11. Flames

Chapter 11:

Flames

When Henri finally arose from his nap, everyone packed up the leftovers from their lunch. As they did, Mireille was shocked at herself. She realized she hadn't had any social contact with anyone, besides Kirika. She'd never done anything like this for many years. Probably, her last time was with her long-ago lover, but he died because of her being an assassin, and got in the way, much like how Milosh got shot for nothing in Kirika's dirty work. If she stood corrected, she hasn't recalled having to do anything with the outside world. And it felt weird and wrong to be doing it with two Soldats, and the one person she's always loathed, the killer of Kirika.

It struck her how much she had wanted to do something special with Kirika, like, probably having a picnic as well. Anything to make that girl smile more. But now, smiles like hers didn't exist anymore, now with her gone.

"Mommy, I have to go potty," whined Henri. He started hopping on his two feet, a look of constipation on his face.

"We didn't need to know that," pointed out Mireille.

Valerie pointed to a small building. "There's the rest area. Hurry up, sweetie."

Noir was not in the right mood. Not when they'd just figure out everything, all the reasons why everything had happened. In a way, it was Valerie's fault for not making it in time to save Mireille or Kirika. But she couldn't help it—she had wanted to find someone who cared about her, and she did. It was the Soldats fault for everything that led to beliefs of Noir. Because of Pierre and Deux, they were stuck with the hardest decision they've experienced so far: kill Henri and Valerie, or not? Or allow Altena to die?

Mireille had to let Chloe make up that decision herself.

Then it also struck her, _why_ she would leave things to _Chloe_ . . .

The blonde walked away, gesturing to Valerie that she needed a moment on her own. Chloe followed, knowing exactly what Mireille's reason was. A few yards from Valerie, they turned and stared at each other with firing questions.

Mireille sighed and said in a flat tone, "So, kill the only boy who's close enough to looking like Kirika, and that will allow Altena to live. Or save him, let Altena die, which ends Le Grand Retour and Noir. Which is it that you will choose, Chloe--ending our connection as Noir, which means end Altena's life; let our connection as Noir go on and kill the boy you've truly care for?"

Chloe didn't glare at her. Instead, she stared at the ground, struggling emotions battling inside her eyes. Her fists shook violently. Her breath shook as you could hear it breathing with unasked questions flicking off.

Mireille caught a glimpse of Valerie staring at her, worried, wondering, asking with burning, blue eyes. Mireille returned her attention to Chloe.

Chloe squeezed her eyes shut and then, a breath broke loose from her lips: "We kill them."

As much as both hated that decision, they didn't falter to the plan. As Mireille heard those final words, she closed her eyes, breathed heavily, and nodded. "If that's how it will be."

Chloe looked away, her eyes still shut, thinking about Henri . . . and Kirika.

Mireille sighed. "Let them walk ahead of us. Let them think we're arguing again and tell them to go on. Then, we'll execute the plan."

Chloe's shoulder collided with Mireille's once more as she strode past. Mireille watched after her, wondering, _Who do you care about the most, Chloe? Altena or a boy--an innocent boy?_

_ You should realize by now, that Kirika was only part of Altena's plan toward Noir. Altena used Kirika to motivate you to become Noir. She knew Kirika would sacrifice herself for me--why do you think Kirika went amnesiac and found refuge with me? Because Altena ordered for her to become amnesiac. Because of Altena, she also had you bond with Kirika shortly before Kirika was put in Japan, away from you, to strengthen your craving to be Noir with her. _

_ You're going to save Altena, not Henri? Altena, the guilty one--Henri, the innocent one, along with Kirika . . . I wish I could tell you all of this, but you would hate me--kill me--and I wouldn't be able to keep Kirika's promise at hand. _

Mireille's heart began to tighten, with the craving to mourn and burst. She sucked in air and followed Chloe back to Valerie.

After waiting one more minute, Henri came dashing back toward them--more like charging; he threw himself gently into Chloe, almost knocking her down. And hugged her. Chloe gasped quietly, looking down at him, arms still hanging at her sides. She stared at Valerie and Mireille. Valerie just smiled and shrugged, while Mireille just watched Chloe, as if telling her to do it back before they killed them.

Chloe's arms were hesitant to wrap themselves around Henri.

Henri snuggled his head against Chloe's stomach. "I can't wait when we play again tomorrow, Noir . . ."

Chloe held back tears, her eyes obviously sparkling from the tearing in her eyes.

Valerie gave a soft laugh. "C'mon, Henri, time to go home."

Henri let go and joined her side, grabbing her hand. "Right, Mommy!"

They began to walk away. Noir stood behind, watching with dim hope in their eyes, hands ready to retrieve their weapons. They surveyed the area around them to make sure no one was even around. Few pedestrians were strolling about, but they were already looking like they were leaving.

Valerie turned her head, her eyes asking. "Um, Noir, everything okay?"

Mireille smiled weakly. "Yeah. I just need to speak with Chloe for a moment. You go on ahead. We'll catch up."

"Just don't kill each other," jested Valerie.

The Soldat smiled warmly, then turned around and kept on walking, with Henri's small hand in her own. The two walking away, looked like such a tranquil, heartrending sight that it shredded Noir's black heart, piece by piece.

When they were far enough, Noir took one more check on the area population, before pulling out gun and blade.

Mireille just gawked beyond the black body of her gun, eyes fixed on Valerie. Her heart, her hands, her eyes, her breath, trembled with this burning feeling once more. She'd remember this feeling. She'd felt this feeling when she killed the flower woman from one of her first assassination missions with Kirika. The same woman, whom she felt she had a connection with, as if she knew the woman's pain; as if they were burdened with the same sins.

Henri's reflection bounced off Chloe's blade. She stared into it hard, hoping to find Kirika one last time in Henri's silhouette.

"I'm ready when you are," Mireille spoke softly. She knew what Chloe was going through. It was like the time when Kirika had begged Mireille to kill her in that cemetary. How haunting that was. The hammering, drumlike rain; Kirika's pleading voice that was in pain; the stones that marked the ruin of their friendship. How ironic that this day was so beautiful, unlike that day at the cemetary.

Next to her, Chloe was still admiring the back of Henri, as he and his mother walked away, unaware. Mireille noticed how shaken the blade was in Chloe's professional hands.

Mireille whispered calmly, "Chloe, I'm waiting."

Chloe was still shuddering with this overwhelming feeling.

Mireille ordered softly, "Chloe, you cannot falter. Not now. We don't have much of an opportunity . . ."

Tears fell from Chloe's eyes, and before Mireille could yell at her, she found her own tears soiling her skin.

They looked back at Valerie and Henri, only to their horror, found that they were staring back at them. Their eyes widened. Chloe, not sure what to do in a situation like this, dropped her throwing knife. Mireille, began to lower her gun, but in reaction, Valerie had already thrown herself in front of her own son to shield him. She whipped out her own gun from the back of her shirt, and aimed it straight at those who threatened her.

_So, Chloe has truly made up her mind?_ All they had to do was to convince Valerie to lower her gun.

Just as Valerie pulled the trigger, Noir jumped aside to dodge it. Both Mireille and Chloe did somersaults to avoid injury. Then, they took up their weapons for the sake of defense. Both Mireille and Valerie aimed death holes at each other.

A loud explosion stabbed the air.

And behind Valerie, Henri fell.

It was a matter of seconds; Valerie screaming Henri's name . . . Noir staring with disbelief . . . Chloe aiming her blade at Mireille and swiping at her, who dodged and stepped back, blocking the point of the blade with her gun . . . Henri thudding softly to the ground . . . Valerie bending down in a swift moment to pick him up, eyes widened.

Then, another explosion sounded off, and Valerie's gun was flicked out of her hand. She stopped midway from reaching Henri's lifeless body, and stared up. After hearing the gun shot, Chloe stopped thrusting her blade at Mireille, and both Noir glanced Valerie's way.

Not far off in the distance, a woman in black stood, gun pointed, steam coming out from the recent fire. A woman in her late twenties, not much older than Mireille; a flow of brown hair lifting in the breeze, hazel eyes challenging Valerie's, a face with a small smirk.

And behind her was a group of Knights of Paris. Their white, smiley masks of plastic stared at Valerie and Noir.

Their faces brought Mireille reluctantly back into one of her terrifying night experiences. The roof top . . . so many white faces of the Soldats aiming fire at them . . . Kirika's demonic eyes . . . Chloe . . . the "final guidance to her past" . . .

Not needing to understand this sight, Valerie charged, screaming. What made Noir nervous was the fact that she was unarmed, charging blindly with rage after the death of her son. The Knights stepped in front of the woman to block her from Valerie's wrath. They drew out their guns and shot at Valerie. To Noir's astonishment, Valerie dodged gracefully, and swept past each enemy, and they fell to death's feet.

Mireille and Chloe watched, motionless. How was Valerie doing that?

Then they realized bullets were firing at them as well. Noir got to their feet and dodged, weapons ready. Mireille aimed and fired the shooting Knights. The rest of them were focused on stopping Valerie. Chloe jumped high into the air as if she'd been catapulting off a trampolin, and released a flurry of silver blades. Throwing knives found themselves in the necks or chests of each targeted Knight.

Valerie had already found her way toward the leading woman. With full, swift swings of her arms, she was thrusting every attack she could upon the leading Soldat. Giving up her gun, the leading Soldat drew out her own dagger, which reminded Mireille of the Intoccabile and her infamous sword. As Mireille took turns watching Valerie's fight and fighting her own, she was wondering how Valerie could have a chance against _that_ dagger, and her own bare hands?

"Chloe, cover me. I'm going to help Valerie," ordered Mireille, as she kicked away a Knight.

Chloe was in a spar with another, dodging his hand-to-hand combat skills, and finishing him off with a swing of her dagger she occasionally used. "Why help her? It's her fight."

"Because it's our fault that she's now without a son." Mireille slide-tackled a Soldat, brought him to the ground, and shot him from there.

"But it wasn't you who shot that bullet," Chloe tried understanding. She leaped onto a Knight's shoulders as if he was giving her a shoulder ride. With her legs tightly wrapped around his neck, she flipped forward and brought him with her, cracking his neck.

"I don't care. I'm going. Besides, she's unarmed. Distract them--" Mireille dodged a Knight, who attempted a punch while a gun in his hand to add pain. As his arm flew by, she used her elbow to hit the neck of the gun, and it flicked out of his grasp. She caught it and used it against him. Then, she threw his gun to Chloe in case the girl needed it ("I'd prefer my knives," Chloe told her).

Chloe took off, plenty of blades ready. The Knights chased her, knowing she was the strongest out of Mireille and Valerie. Mireille took this advantage, and ran to get through another block of Knights to aid Valerie.

As panting and running feet rustled behind her, Chloe looked ahead. She found that the playground was a great advantage for her. They followed without hesitation, guns wielded. Chloe reached to the one spot where the rocking, fake ponies on springs were. Timing it right, she leaped far enough, landed on one, sat down hastily, bent back, and let the force of the bobbing pony catapult her into three Knights. She sent her knives into their throats. The remaining enemies aimed their guns or attempted punches. She dodged all effortlessly. She bounced off two Knights' chests and did a backward flip, her kicks pushing them to the ground.

Chloe fled, hoping this was all good enough to allow Mireille to help Valerie . . . her heart sunk, her eyes only seeing the motionless body of Henri. She took out another blade. _This one is for Henri . . . and Kirika._

_ *************_

Valerie unleashed a powerful kick at the woman. The woman ducked, and her blade aimed for Valerie's heart. Before Valerie could try a block or dodge, Mireille threw herself into Valerie and knocked them both down. They rolled, sprawled out in the grass, but jumped to their feet again. Mireille stole a glance at Valerie's hand . . . and realized that Valerie wore a small, silver ring with a sharp nail protruding from the ring, on her middle finger's nail. So that was the reason why she could kill.

Mireille gave a sinister glare at the female Soldat, who stared at her with a tilted head, eyes just studying Noir. She raised her blade, a blade that had square-shaped holes purposely designed into its silver steel.

"You're not quite what I expected, Noir," she said calmly.

She leapt in the air, dagger aimed down at Mireille and Valerie.

**********

Three more Knights pursued Chloe like clueless hounds. She reach-ed the normal sea-saws. She ran over to one side, while the Soldats, gunless this time, stood from across her on the other side. They drew out daggers.

Little did one of them know he was standing right over a little kid's sea-saw. Chloe saw that her side of the sea saw was raised. She lifted her flexible leg up, and stomped down, her weight bringing her side of the sea-saw, down. And the other side went up, smacking into the groin of the middle Knight. He screamed in pain, grabbing his pants, then slowly fell unconscious after Chloe threw her knife into his throat.

The two looked at their fallen comrade with shock, then looked up, only to find Chloe gone. They looked around in confusion and wariness. It wasn't long until they spotted the growing shadow beneath them. They looked up, the sun blinding them, but soon it was eclipsed by a falling figure that had used the swings as a launcher. Chloe flew down, landed her knees on both their chests, and casually struck her blades into their hearts. She flipped off before they fell dead.

**********

Valerie's arm glided past the woman, immediately tearing the black sleeve and inserting a painful line of red. As Valerie drew back, the Soldat woman shrank midway to her knees, clutching her arm, dropping her blade. Her arm started leaking with blood, along with stinging pain.

Mireille lowered her gun and joined Valerie's side, as they glared down at the murderer of Henri. By that time, Chloe ran and joined them, still keeping her cool and calmness in her motions--but the flare in her eyes burst when she saw the last of the Soldats there, grappling her injured arm from Valerie's claw.

"You Soldats are as pitiful as always," remarked Mireille, cocking her gun and aiming it at her captive to keep her still. "That's all you can do. Throw worthless Knights at us . . ." Her finger touched the trigger. The woman looked up with an angry glint in her eyes. Valerie and Chloe stared at Mireille impatiently, eyes that urged for her to get it over and done with--for Henri. Yet, Mireille didn't pull the trigger. She lowered her gun. She smiled, death written all over her face. "Don't worry, you won't die . . . yet. I'll leave that to Valerie--"

"Just shoot!" screamed Chloe. "She murdered Henri!"

"Not yet," Mireille told her sternly. Then, her eyes flicked back to the injured Soldat. She commanded, "Tell this Sir Salvas that we're ready. He can throw as many puppets at us as much as he wants, but we'll cut those strings. Tell him it's going to be over, very soon. After all, it's a big sin for a Soldat to turn on his own comrades . . ."

Valerie snatched Mireille's gun and aimed it at the forehead of their captive. "I DON'T CARE." Her lips were trembling, eyes watering, yet words of hatred flowed. "She killed my _son_ . . . she killed my son--" Her eyes switched to Mireille and Chloe. "_You_ tried killing my son and me--but why--?"

A bullet flew and it snapped the gun out of Valerie's hand. Valerie went down to her knees, holding her hand that got grazed by a bullet. Towering over her in defense, Chloe pulled out her gun and shot more Soldat Knights that had come as reinforcements. Noir didn't recall so many reinforcements coming this quickly. At the same time, the Soldats woman grabbed her dagger and fled, but Mireille lunged for her legs and knocked her to the ground. They fought on the ground; the woman bucked Mireille off her with her own legs, and kicked Mireille hard in the chest that Mireille thought she'd die.

Chloe saw Mireille struggle to get up on the ground, while their lead to Sir Salvas escaped through a wall of more Knights. The Knights fired, while some charged, but with different choices of weapons . . . burnt stakes.

One man swung his torch at Valerie, who jumped back and tried striking him. But the torch was a clever idea--who could go through flames without getting burnt? But Valerie was witty and clever; she lowered herself and slid her leg under the Knight, tripping him. Chloe joined her and shot him as he laid on the ground. The only threat to him being dead was the fact that he dropped the torch. Before the two could smother it, it had already spread, a wide ribbon of hellish fires roaring to the skies and licking the grass. Now, the flames rose higher like walking fire demons, forcing Noir to back up. Behind Noir, more Soldats appeared and trashed Noir's escape with fire.

More Soldats joined, but instead with guns, more torches. They all simply dropped the torches and backed up from the ring of fire that began to crust Noir. From behind the orange glow of the heat, the woman stood there, smiling.

"About time you returned to the depths of hell's fire," she taunted. Then, she turned around and walked away, three bodyguards joining her, while the rest made sure Noir didn't get out.

Chloe's gun had run out of magazines, so she dropped it, and took the one that had been sniped from Valerie's hand. She fired at the Knights on the other side of the fire. It was hard, though, for her to see due to the burning smoke in her eyes, the fowl smell that could bring one to unconsciousness, and the fact that the Soldats were a blurry vision behind the fire. It wasn't long until that gun was out of ammo as well.

Mireille looked through the licking arms of hell, seeing so many smiling masks at her. Haunting. Deadly. She closed her eyes, then began hacking at the clogging smoke in her throat. She tried covering her mouth with her hand, but that really was no use.

Behind her, she spotted Valerie running toward Henri's body, which was with them within the ring of fire. But she caught up and held Valerie by the shoulders, keeping her from going any further. Valerie tried reaching, screaming, fighting to get Mireille's hands off her.

"My son, he's--!"

"Burning up, that's what," Mireille sadly informed her. She tried pulling Valerie back. "Valerie, we have to go. The flames have already engulfed his body. I'm sorry--"

"MY _SON_!"

"VALERIE," shouted Chloe over the roaring of the fire. She coughed, but she managed to say, "We must escape if we are to live."

"Valerie, please," begged Mireille, turning Valerie to face her. Sorrow, pity, and guilt reflected in Mireille's faces as Valerie looked into them. "I'm sorry, Valerie. I'm sorry . . . but we can't afford to lose you now. Come . . ."

Valerie looked over her shoulder at the body of her son. Like a bed of ember, the green grass and the climbing flames blanket him. In despair, Valerie sadly looked at Henri's face among the flames. Mireille didn't allow her to look any longer, though; she pulled Valerie along as they joined Chloe. Chloe aimed a throwing knife up at a a telephone pole, which was nearby, only few feet from the outside of the ring of fire. The flying knife cut one line that held the telephone pole up. Chloe threw her lasts, which accurately cut the rest and the wooden beam collapsed, like a cut tree. Its body smothered some fire beneath it, leaving a bridge out of the ring. Noir hurried across it, and fled into the streets of Paris, which buzzed with the sound of fire trucks approaching; through crowds of people who watched the fire spread. Valerie's tears flew as they looked over her shoulders with her, at the fire, as hell took her son.


End file.
